My Lord Immortality

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Who goes there?” he demanded in low tones. “Reveal yourself.”

  There was a sudden rustle among the leaves of a nearby hedge before a large, awkward form abruptly lumbered into the lane clutching a black cat.

  “Me. Me.”

  Sebastian’s tension eased as he replaced the dagger back into his hidden pocket. His expression, however, remained hard with annoyance.

  “William.” His brows drew together in a threatening motion. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  Obviously impervious to Sebastian’s dark temper, the young gentleman smiled with a sweet happiness.

  “Nice man.”

  Sebastian’s frown only deepened. “You do know that your sister believes you to be safely eating breakfast? She will be sick with worry when she discovers that you are missing once again.”

  William merely pointed toward the hedge. “Cats.”

  “Yes, I know about your damnable cats,” he growled. Although he possessed compassion for the young man, the knowledge that he was so willing to lure his sister into danger was enough to set his teeth on edge. He did not doubt for a moment that Miss Hadwell would soon be scouring the streets in search of her missing brother. “What am I to do with you?”

  “Me?” William wrinkled his brow. “Me, William.”

  “You should be at home. Did you not promise your sister to remain there?”

  A familiar stubborn expression settled on the round face. “Cats.”

  “Blessed Nefri.” Sebastian sucked in a deep breath. With an effort he calmed his rising temper. This man was a child at heart. He could not bully nor threaten him. All he could do was attempt to prevent him from leading his sister into disaster. “You are obviously determined to be with those mangy kittens regardless of the danger to your sister.”

  His smile returned. “Milly, nice.”

  “Milly?” Sebastian was briefly caught off guard. “Ah, Amelia. Yes, she is nice. Far too nice.”

  “Nice man.”

  “You are wide of the mark there, my boy,” Sebastian retorted in dry tones.

  William frowned. “No. Nice man.”

  “Blast it all.” Giving a shake of his head, Sebastian surrendered to the inevitable. William was determined to be with his cats. There was only one certain means of ensuring that Miss Hadwell was not spending her nights in the dark and dangerous alley. “Get your blasted kittens.”

  “Cats?”

  “Yes. We will take them to my home. At least then you will not be roaming the lanes and your sister will not be placed in such danger.”

  The frown disappeared as if by magic and the dark eyes abruptly glowed with pleasure.

  “Nice, nice man,” William chattered, hurriedly turning to pile the kittens in his large arms.

  Sebastian suppressed a shiver. His aging housekeeper would no doubt desire his head upon a platter when she discovered his latest house guests, if she did not simply walk out. And his privacy would be in constant danger with William wandering in and out of his home.

  Still, he would do whatever was necessary to keep Miss Hadwell from Drake’s clutches.

  No, he sternly reminded himself. Not Miss Hadwell, but the Medallion. It was the Medallion that was important.

  He heaved a heavy sigh.

  “No, not a nice man,” he muttered. “Merely a man who wishes he was back among the peace of his books. Now bring your cats along before I come to my senses.”

  Chapter 3

  Amelia endured yet another sleepless night.

  On this occasion, it was not the formless shadow nor the impending sense of danger that kept her pacing the floor of her bedchamber. At least not directly.

  Instead it had been the memories of Mr. St. Ives that had haunted her thoughts.

  Why did he disturb her so?

  He was beautiful, of course. Perhaps the most beautiful man she had ever encountered. More than once she had discovered her gaze lingering upon his pale, elegant features as if she were a moonstruck idiot rather than a sensible woman.

  And when he had touched her . . . well, she could not deny that he had made her heart trip and caused the most peculiar sensations to rush through her body.

  But it was more than his physical appeal that made him linger in her thoughts.

  There was something about him that was unusual, she acknowledged as she slowly pulled on a muslin gown in a shade of pale lemon. Something that she could not precisely pinpoint but nevertheless warned her that he was no common flirt who pursued her for his own pleasure.

  The question now, of course, was—what did he want?

  And how was he connected with the deadly shadow? A shadow that still remained an unnerving mystery.

  Without thinking, Amelia reached up to touch the amulet. The Gypsy had warned of danger. Now, Mr. St. Ives implied that she was in peril. It made no sense, but she was not willing to dismiss the notion. However absurd, she could almost feel the sense of impending doom. As if it were slowly creeping up behind her.

  Amelia shivered.

  Enough of this, she sternly chastised herself. She was no coward hiding in her room. If there were danger she would face it squarely.

  The brave thought had barely formed in her mind when there was a sudden rap upon the door. With a faint measure of surprise, she crossed the narrow room to discover her housekeeper standing in the hall with a harried expression.

  “Oh, Miss Hadwell, I did not like to trouble you at such an early hour.”

  “It is no trouble,” she assured the elderly servant. Although a dried-up wisp of a woman with a perpetually worried expression, Mrs. Benson had proved to be utterly loyal to both William and Amelia. “Is something the matter?”

  “Well, not precisely, although it cannot be good news. I mean it never is, is it?”

  Amelia blinked in confusion. “What cannot be good news?”

  “That man,” Mrs. Benson retorted, her thin hands wringing together. “They always mean trouble. Trouble, mark my words.”

  “I still do not know what you speak of, Mrs. Benson. What man?”

  “That Mr. Ryan.”

  “Ryan?” Amelia frowned, quite certain that she had never met a Mr. Ryan. “Are you certain he has the right house?”

  The tiny head bobbed up and down. “Asked for you in particular, Miss Hadwell.”

  “That is odd. I have never been introduced to a Mr. Ryan. What would he be doing here?”

  “He be from Bow Street, miss.”

  Amelia felt a chill inch down her spine. Bow Street? What would such a man be doing in her home? How would he even know her name?

  “I see,” she forced herself to say slowly, careful to keep her unease hidden. The housekeeper was always a breath away from a fit of the vapors. Amelia did not want to get her worked into a pucker. “Did you put him in the front parlor?”

  “Aye. Were you wishing me to send him upon his way?”

  It was a tempting thought. Amelia did not imagine for a moment that a Bow Street runner could bring anything but bad news. And after her sleepless nights, she felt far from confident that she could deal with any potential problem.

  Unfortunately, she feared that by sending him away she was only prolonging the inevitable. If the man desired to speak with her, then he would simply return. Perhaps it was best to meet with him and be done with it.

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Benson. I will see him.”

  “And William?”

  Amelia stilled in fear. “What do you mean?”

  “The man be asking for William as well.”

  She pressed her hands to her suddenly quivering stomach. Had someone seen William in the alley the night before last? Was it possible that they thought him a suspect? Did they . . .

  Do not panic, she chastised herself sternly. She did not even yet know what the man wanted. It might very well be nothing to do with her.

  Still, it seemed wise to keep William out of the reach of the runner. Her brother could not be trusted not to reveal more than was wis
e.

  “Has William risen yet?” she asked in strained tones.

  “Yes, Miss Hadwell. He is down enjoying a nice breakfast of fresh ham and toast.”

  “Would you ensure that he remains in the kitchen? I do not want him troubled by this Mr. Ryan.”

  An expression of determination hardened the thin features. However rattled the housekeeper might be, she would prove a formidable enemy to anyone foolish enough to threaten her beloved William.

  “Depend upon me, miss. I’ll not let that man trouble the sweet boy.”

  “Thank you.” Drawing in a deep breath, Amelia forced her reluctant feet to carry her through the door and down the narrow hall. The house was too small to give her much opportunity to compose her thoughts, but she did manage a calm expression when she at last pushed open the door to the sun-filled parlor and regarded the large, boyishly handsome man that swiftly rose to his feet at her entrance. “Mr. Ryan?”

  “Yes.” He performed a respectable bow. “Forgive me for intruding at such an awkward hour, Miss Hadwell.”

  “It is no bother,” she lied smoothly, moving to perch upon the edge of a brocade sofa. “Will you not be seated?”

  “Thank you.” He resettled his bulk on a nearby chair, his expression pleasant but unreadable.

  “What is it that I can do for you?”

  The runner seemed to study her composed features before clearing his throat.

  “I fear I have some rather distressing news.”

  Amelia swallowed heavily. “Indeed?”

  “Yes, two nights ago a young woman was discovered murdered not far from here.”

  “How . . . dreadful.”

  “More dreadful than you know.” An unmistakable flare of frustration rippled over his broad face. “She is not the first to be so brutally slain. There has been a rash of murders for the past month. Most of the victims have been unfortunate prostitutes, but not all. There has been at least one nobleman discovered floating in the river and several less notable men who have simply disappeared.”

  Amelia’s queasiness returned as she recalled the lifeless body that she had seen. It was a horrid image she was certain would haunt her for nights to come.

  “Yes, the papers have been filled with the distressing news,” she managed to murmur in low tones.

  His lips twisted. “And, of course, the utter failure of the authorities to capture the madman. It has not been a pleasant summer for Bow Street.”

  “I suppose it has not.”

  With an effort, the runner forced aside his simmering irritation and managed a tight smile.

  “Still, I did not come here to bemoan our lack of success. As I said, last evening there was a murder not far from here.”

  Amelia clenched her hands in her lap. “Do you know who she was?”

  “A poor woman of the streets, I fear. She came from the stews.”

  “I see. It is odd that she would be in this neighborhood.”

  The pale eyes slowly narrowed. “We presume she was lured here rather than being forced. There was no sign of a struggle.”

  Amelia did not have to fake her shudder. “Poor maiden.”

  “Yes.” There was a faint pause. “It was quite a brutal attack. For once, however, there was a witness who is willing to speak.”

  Amelia blinked in genuine shock. “A . . . witness?”

  The runner leaned forward. “A gentleman in the neighborhood happened to be on his way home when he noticed figures moving in the alley where the body was discovered. He claimed that one was a woman and the other was a large man with dark hair.”

  A man with dark hair . . . it had to be William. But how? Surely they would have noticed this mysterious gentleman if he had been close enough to catch sight of William and herself? Unless . . .

  Just for a wild moment Amelia considered the possibility of Mr. St. Ives whispering the horrid words into the runner’s ear. Perhaps he feared that he would be implicated in the crime and had sought to distract attention. Then, just as swiftly, she was dismissing the ridiculous notion.

  It had been Mr. St. Ives who had the good sense to hide William when the Watch had arrived. And had even risked returning to the dark to ensure that she could slip her brother home so no one would ever suspect he had been out of his home.

  No. It could not have been Mr. St. Ives.

  But, who?

  “Miss Hadwell?” Mr. Ryan at last prompted her out of her tangled thoughts.

  With an effort Amelia forced herself to concentrate on the man seated across the room. Despite his air of boyish good humor, she very much feared he possessed a shrewd mind and tenacious spirit. He was determined to find someone to blame for the murder. If she were not on her guard, that someone might very well end up being William.

  “I fear that I can be of no assistance, Mr. Ryan,” she managed at last in reasonably steady tones. “I rarely go out in the evenings. I did not notice anything.”

  “A pity,” he murmured. “And your brother?”

  “My . . . brother?”

  “I am told you have a younger brother by the name of William.”

  She would not flinch, she told herself sternly. She would not reveal so much as a grimace. William’s very freedom might depend upon the next few moments. She must be strong.

  “Yes, I do, but he would know nothing of the murder.”

  The pale eyes slowly narrowed at her firm words. “Perhaps it would be best if I speak with him myself.”

  Amelia’s thin smile remained staunchly in place. “I fear that is impossible.”

  “Oh?” Mr. Ryan lifted his brows. “And why is that?”

  “He is suffering from a fever. He has rarely left his bed for the past few days.”

  The runner paused as if well aware that she lied. Amelia held her breath as she waited in dread for him to demand a meeting with her brother. She did not know enough of the law to be certain she could keep him from forcing his way through her home. Then, much to her relief, he allowed a wry smile to touch his lips.

  “I hope it is nothing serious?”

  “No, I do not believe so,” she babbled. “Still, he is very weak.”

  “Ah, well, then I will not trouble him,” the runner said, rising to his feet.

  Amelia stood and crossed toward the door. The sooner this man was out of her home, the better.

  “That would be for the best, I believe.”

  Moving across the room, Mr. Ryan paused as he stepped through the door. “Thank you for your help, Miss Hadwell. Oh, and please tell your brother that I will return in a day or so to speak with him.”

  The hope that she had managed to put this man off died a swift and painful death. He would return. And on the next occasion he would insist on speaking with William.

  Not even her fierce determination could keep her smile from fading to a grimace.

  “I . . . very well.”

  “Do not bother to see me out. I can find my way.”

  With a bow, the large man had moved into the hall and was walking briskly toward the door. Amelia watched his retreat in troubled silence.

  What was she to do?

  Take William and flee?

  But to where?

  She could not return to her parents. As much as she loved them, she knew that the presence of William was too painful for them to bear. Within weeks they would once again be threatening to have him sent to Bedlam. And while she had her allowance, she had spent most of her savings upon this house. She could not afford to remain in hiding forever.

  Besides which, a more sensible part of her warned that taking William and leaving would only make the runner more convinced of his guilt. If they did discover them they might very well have him hauled off and convicted before she could prove his innocence.

  Restless and in need of a means of clearing her thoughts, Amelia found herself absently moving down the hall. She would go for a short walk, she told herself. Perhaps the fresh air and exercise would allow her to rid herself of the brooding sense o
f danger that continued to haunt her.

  Amelia shivered as she tiptoed her way up the long staircase and slipped into the empty front salon. It was not only the heavy silence that made her cringe. Nor the squeak of worn floorboards that seemed to echo eerily through the heavy air. It was more the prickling sense of self-reproach that grew more pronounced with every step.

  She should not be here, a stern voice chastised in the back of her mind. She had left her house to take a simple walk. To clear her mind and consider what was to be done. But even as she had left her home she had discovered her feet determinedly heading in a straight line to this town house. Almost as if she were being inwardly compelled to seek out Mr. St. Ives.

  That compulsion had remained even when she had discovered no response to her numerous pulls upon the bell. Sensibly, she knew that she should return home. She should not even have come. But, then, she had not followed the sensible course.

  Instead, before she was even aware of what she was doing, she had pushed the door open and boldly stepped into the foyer. The empty silence that greeted her only prodded her onward. The gentleman had proved to be decidedly reluctant to answer her questions, she remembered, attempting to justify her unreasonable behavior. And she was quite certain that he knew more of this shadow, and the ghastly murder, than he was willing to confess. Why should she not use this obvious opportunity to her advantage?

  Glancing about the large salon, she studied the furniture, still shrouded in covers, and the windows that did not appear to have been washed in the past several years. Amelia frowned. There was a barren, neglected air about the room. Definitely a bachelor’s home, she acknowledged. Any woman would have had the house scrubbed from top to bottom before ever setting foot inside.

  Indeed, it was almost as if no one lived here at all.

  Gnawing upon her lower lip, she moved through the shadows, seeking some sign of occupancy. It was the right house, was it not? She could not be mistaken. This had to be the house the stranger had led her into.

  Absently turning, with the vague thought of continuing her search to another room, Amelia came to a sharp halt. She had heard not a sound, but leaning negligently in the doorway was a large male form. A magnificent male form attired in a smoke gray coat and black breeches.