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Whisper To Me of Love

Page 50

by Shirlee Busbee


  The polite smile on Royce’s face vanished as he listened to John’s words and his handsome features took on a grim cast, the golden eyes narrowing and hardening as the seconds passed. John had barely paused for breath before Royce demanded in a voice like the crack of a whiplash, “How long ago was this?”

  “N-N-Not ten m-m-minutes, sir!” John stammered.

  George strolled into the hallway just then in search of his host, and taking one look at Royce’s face, he hurried over to him and inquired anxiously, “What is it? What the deuce has occurred now?”

  “Young Bullard here says that not ten minutes ago, he saw Morgana leaving the estate ... taking a bloody walk!”

  “No reason why she shouldn’t,” George said reasonably. “Fine afternoon. Had a shock. Might have decided to take a walk to clear her mind. Logical thing to do.”

  Royce threw him a glance of loathing, and leaving George and John to stare openmouthed after him, he suddenly sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, disappearing when he reached the top.

  He reappeared almost immediately, practically flying down the stairs in his haste, a crumpled sheet of paper between his fingers. The grimness of his expression had deepened and hardened, only now a flicker of fear could be glimpsed in the flashing golden eyes, and thrusting the paper into George’s hand, he groaned bitterly, “The little fool has gone to meet the one-eyed man! She was to meet him at five o’clock, and it is already several minutes past the hour! There is not a moment to lose if I am to catch them!”

  Panicked as he had never been before in his life, Royce bolted down the hallway to the weapons room and snatched up a pistol and some shot and then sped out of the house, racing to the stables, his only thought to reach Morgana before it was too late. Oblivious to the stable boys’ astonished stares, he stopped only long enough to finish loading the pistol and jam it into the waistband of his breeches. He then grabbed a bridle and swiftly threw it over the head of the first horse he came to. Swinging lithely up onto the animal’s bare back, Royce suddenly became aware of several of the stable staff watching him in amazement. Catching Matt’s eye, he commanded, “Have those blacks of mine harnessed to the gig, and get it ready to go immediately—I may need them! Do it now!”

  Putting his heels to the flanks of the horse, without another word, Royce galloped away from the stables at a tearing pace. Upon reaching the entrance to the estate, he paused a second at the gatekeeper’s cottage to demand tautly, “Your mistress, has she returned?”

  “No, sir!” Harry Bullard replied instantly, his usually open features tight with concern.

  Royce cursed under his breath and urged his horse down the road in the direction of the bridge. He had not let himself think beyond getting to the place where Morgana was to have met the one-eyed man, but as his horse thundered to a snorting stop at the bridge, and he looked frantically up and down the deserted, empty road, he was conscious of a terrible fear gnawing at his very vitals. Leaping down from his mount, he wasted precious seconds searching for any signs that could give him a clue as to what may have happened here, or even in which direction he should begin to look for his wife, but he could discern nothing from the ground around him.

  Unwilling to squander more time in the fruitless checking for evidence, Royce swiftly remounted his horse and rode hurriedly back to the gatekeeper’s lodge. His expression bleak, pulling his horse to a rearing halt just inside the gateway, he asked desperately of Harry, “Have you seen anyone go by on this road recently?”

  Glumly, Harry shook his head. “No, sir. There were a few farm carts and people walking along the road early this morning, and about two hours ago some local youths passed by riding a couple of plow horses, but other than the vehicle with your guests in it, there has been nothing.”

  Royce hadn’t expected him to answer any differently—the one-eyed man wouldn’t have left anything to chance. His heart feeling like ice in his chest, dispiritedly he guided his horse toward the house. What was he to do? He had to find her! Sweet, benighted little fool to risk her life this way! How dare she! Torn between anger and despair, he kicked his horse into a trot. The one-eyed man had to have made some mistake! He just had to find it!

  The gig and horses he had ordered were standing ready for him at the front of the house, and as he reluctantly dismounted and handed the reins to Matt, who came running up immediately, he wondered if there was anything to be gained by further casting about for the one-eyed man’s trail. Remaining idle, however, was out of the question, and he was on the point of going into the house to inform the others of his decision to continue searching for Morgana when the sound of a rapidly approaching vehicle had him spinning around, hope flaring wildly within his breast.

  But it was only Julian Devlin, and Royce’s heart sank at the sight of Julian’s tense, white features. It was obvious from his strained expression that the young man was laboring under great distress, and praying that Julian’s appearance had nothing to do with Morgana’s disappearance, Royce walked briskly over to where Julian had jerked his horses to a standstill and said with outward calm, “I hadn’t expected to see you again quite so soon.”

  Coming down to stand next to Royce, Julian took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I’ve spoken with my parents!” He stopped abruptly as the realization hit him that what he had said was not precisely true.

  Julian swallowed painfully and started to speak again, but before he could say any more, the front door flew open and George, Zachary, and Jack came hurrying toward them. Their faces full of anxiety, they barely acknowledged Julian’s presence as George demanded, “Did you find her?”

  Royce shook his head and replied tautly, “I rode to the bridge where they were to meet, but no one was there, and there was no sign of anyone about. I looked for clues to give me some idea which direction he may have taken her, but there was nothing.”

  “Good Lord!” George ejaculated. “What are we going to do?”

  Grimly Royce answered, “Go after them—if I have to scour the entire English countryside, I intend to find them. I was on the point of coming inside and telling you this when Julian arrived.”

  George sent Julian a speculative glance, noting his unnaturally pale complexion and the distraught cast to his face. Momentarily diverted from Morgana’s disappearance, George asked almost gently, “Talked to your parents, have you?”

  Julian nodded unhappily. “Yes, I did—I’ve just come from seeing them.” Still half-stunned by what he had learned so cruelly, Julian sent George a bitter, twisted smile and muttered, “Only, there is something that you didn’t know—Stephen Devlin is not my father!” Ignoring the shocked gasps from the others, he gave a harsh, angry laugh. “Morgana and I are actually brother and sister, not cousins, as you suspected—according to Stephen, I am Andrew’s bastard, and my mother did not deny it! As for the rest of it ...” His composure suddenly shattered and his young face contorted dreadfully as he blurted out, “It’s true! Everything you said! They both admitted it to me!” It was painful to see him fight to gain control of himself, but after a second, his features rigidly composed once more, he drew in a shuddering breath and, glancing over at Royce, said levelly, “Your wife is the legitimate daughter of Andrew and Hester Devlin! In order to get their hands on the fortune she would inherit from her mother, Stephen and my mother made arrangements with a one-eyed man to dispose of her after Hester died, but the one-eyed man betrayed them and didn’t kill her!”

  “Which,” Royce exclaimed savagely, “explains why he has been so determined to get his hands on her—he knows who she is and must have concocted some elaborate scheme to gain control of her fortune!”

  Jack cleared his throat uneasily. “I don’t think that it’s, um, just to get his hands on her fortune that he has kidnapped her—me and Ben have known for a long time that he wanted her in his bed,” Jack said with unvarnished truth.

  “Jesus!” Royce muttered, his eyes shutting in anguish at the ugly picture of Morgana enduring the embra
ce of the one-eyed man. “Jack, I could have wished that you hadn’t brought up that aspect of the situation. We must find her as soon as possible!”

  Confusion evident, Julian asked uncertainly, “Has something happened since I’ve been gone? You said ‘kidnapped.’”

  Zachary and Jack instantly crowded up to Julian, and both began to talk at once, rapidly explaining between the pair of them the current, rather grim situation. Ironically, the news that his half sister had been snatched by the one-eyed man was perhaps the very thing that Julian needed to hear. The knowledge of her terrible predicament, the possibility that her very life might be in danger, pushed his own unhappy situation to the back of his mind. It also gave him something to do other than dwell on the horrendous shocks he had suffered this day, and with a zealot’s gleam in his eyes, with desperate eagerness he turned to Royce and vowed, “I will help you in any way that I can! Where shall we begin?”

  Bleakly Royce stared off at the horizon. “I don’t know,” he said finally, a hint of defeat in his voice. Giving himself an angry shake, deliberately closing his mind to the fear and degradation that Morgana might be suffering at this very moment, holding a tight rein on his own fears for her, he continued more confidently, “We know that whatever method he used to spirit her away, he did not come past the entrance to Lime Tree Cottage ... which lets us know that he had to be going in the direction of Tunbridge Wells... .” His mouth tightened and he spat frustratedly, “Which tells us precisely nothing! He could have taken her anywhere!”

  Pulling his watch from its pocket in his vest, he glanced down at it, his expression growing even grimmer. “It’s almost the half hour... . If we tarry any longer here, we will have lost whatever advantage my learning so soon about her meeting with him will have given us.”

  They held a short, tense discussion of the best way to proceed. It was decided that Royce and George would leave immediately in the gig that Royce had ordered readied earlier; they would head toward Tunbridge Wells, inquiring after Morgana as they went, leaving messages or directions whenever possible; the others would follow after them just as soon as horses could be readied for them. Julian’s horses were exhausted, having already traveled from London today, and it was agreed that some of their party should be mounted individually, in order to be able to cast farther afield and search in several different directions at the same time.

  The fact that Jack had never been on a horse in his life, nor driven one, created a temporary setback until it was deemed that it might be wise to have a second, larger vehicle available if they needed it—they had no way of knowing when or in what condition they might find Morgana. The solution was simple—Zachary and Julian would be astride the fastest horses in the stables, and Jack would follow in the yellow-bodied barouche, ably driven by Royce’s coachman.

  Having disposed of their various methods of transportation, and conscious of the minutes relentlessly ticking away, with mounting impatience Royce growled, “Come along, George! Let us be off—and pray that we discover some hint of which direction he has taken her!”

  “Wait!” George said abruptly, and when Royce threw him an irascible look, he added imperturbably, “Been thinking.”

  “Oh, Lord! Not now!” Royce pleaded irritably, certain that George was about to embark on another long-winded explanation.

  George shot him a reproachful glance and held up the note from the one-eyed man, which he still had clutched in his hand. A slight frown furrowed his forehead. “Believe I’ve seen this handwriting before... .”

  His eyes fixed on his cousin’s face with painful intensity, Royce asked raggedly, “Are you certain?”

  George nodded. “Told you—remember everything!”

  Julian gave a half-bitter, half-rueful laugh. “I can attest to that!” he said with feeling. “He does remember everything, whether it is twenty-year-old gossip or the fact that some high-flyer had china blue eyes!”

  George jumped as if he had been shot. “That’s it!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Knew there was something else!” He looked at the handwriting on the paper and nodded and muttered as if to himself. “Of course, should have recognized his scrawl—took enough vowels from him over the years!”

  In a suspiciously mild voice, Royce asked, “Would you mind sharing your knowledge with us? Soon?”

  Sending his cousin a quelling glance, George said calmly, “Almost forgot something interesting about Jane Fowler... . She was born on the wrong side of the blanket, but she came from good stock—her father was a country squire, raised her properly, but she kicked over the traces and ran away with her half sister’s fiancé to London.”

  Jack nodded his head and corroborated George’s statement. “Yes, that’s true—Mother never hid her past from us.”

  George beamed approvingly at Jack, and Royce choked back a despairing groan. Afraid that his cousin was about to embark on a lengthy discussion about Jane Fowler and what she had done or not done twenty-five years earlier, painfully conscious of time slipping away, Royce muttered, “George, please! If you have any affection for me, get to the damn point of your story!”

  Looking slightly offended, George said stiffly, “Thing is, about two years after she appeared in London, her brother, one of the squire’s legitimate get, showed up in town. He was green as grass and didn’t realize that having a sister who was a member of the demimonde would put him beyond the pale.” A thoughtful expression on his face, George murmured admiringly, “Didn’t take him long to learn, though, and he quickly distanced himself from her and that crowd. He was a likable youth—known him for years, but don’t think that there are many people who even remember that his sister was Jane Fowler.”

  “His name, George!” Royce demanded tautly, holding on to his temper with the greatest of effort.

  “Allan Rufus Newell,” George said simply.

  “Newell!” Zachary and Julian ejaculated simultaneously, staring in astonishment at George. “B-B-But you may meet him nearly everywhere!” Zachary continued in confusion.

  “Of course! That’s how he knew where we would be the day Morgana was ordered to pick my pocket!” Royce breathed thickly. “We know the one-eyed man wrote that note, and if George has identified the handwriting as Newell’s ... Allan Newell is the one-eyed man! Which also explains how Morgana ended up with Jane Fowler! Her brother, as the one-eyed man, brought her the infant to raise.”

  “But why?” Jack questioned in obvious bewilderment.

  A fierce, dangerous smile curved Royce’s mouth. “That’s something I intend to find out, just as soon as I lay my hands on him!” He speared George with a menacing glance. “And now, cousin,” he began in a silken tone that fooled no one, “where can we find our elusive Mr. Newell?”

  Eyeing Royce uneasily, George muttered, “Believe he has a summer home on the coast, near Hastings. Don’t know its precise location, but once we reach Hastings, positive we can get directions to it.”

  It seemed logical, and without further discussion, Royce hustled George to the waiting gig; a moment later, the horses leaping forward at Royce’s urgings, they swept down the driveway. As the gatekeeper’s cottage came into sight, Royce slowed slightly and would have driven on past if Harry and John had not suddenly appeared at the entrance, waving their arms frantically.

  Jerking his horses to a halt, in a tone that would have given a lesser man pause, Royce barked, “Yes, what is it?” His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of a bloodied and disheveled Tom Cooper and Mr. Spurling standing uncertainly at the side of the cottage.

  Mr. Spurling, his usually immaculate clothes dusty and torn, his nose bloodied and his lip split, walked over to the gig. Meeting Royce’s hard stare, he said in a voice trembling with indignation, “I know that you believed that I was the one who allowed the intruder into the house in London—but I am innocent of that crime!” He shot Tom Cooper a bitter look. “I was not the only one up that night—afterwards, when I left to return to my room, I found him lurking about. He denied any knowledge o
f what had happened, but since I knew that I had not let the one-eyed man into the house, I immediately suspected that Tom Cooper was the culprit.” Drawing his diminutive body up as tall as he could, he went on doggedly, “I have watched him closely these past weeks, and today my efforts were rewarded.”

  Tom Cooper, wiping his own bloody nose, although looking slightly less for wear than Mr. Spurling, growled, “I didn’t do anything wrong. He’s dicked in the nob!”

  Mr. Spurling smiled in a superior manner and, reaching into his torn vest, brought out a slip of folded paper. “I think you will find the contents of this note most revealing, sir!” He handed it to Royce, then glanced disdainfully back at Tom Cooper and said quietly, “I followed him into town this afternoon, where he furtively met a gentleman who remained concealed in the shadows. I was hidden from them, but close enough to hear the man’s instructions as he gave Tom the note—you were not to receive it until eight o’clock this evening. I, er, forced him to give it to me.”

  Swiftly Royce scanned the missive, instantly recognizing the handwriting as the same in the note to Morgana. It was obvious why Newell had not wanted the letter delivered until later—at eight it would still be light enough for Royce to leave for the meeting detailed within, but it would be well after dark before he could have possibly reached the destination stated by Newell. Darkness would have been Newell’s ally, and the three-hour delay would have given the man all the time in the world to set a trap for Royce. Morgana was to be the bait, and Royce didn’t doubt for a moment that Allan Newell, as the one-eyed man, had every intention of killing him... .

  Royce lifted his head, his gaze resting a brief, lethal moment on Tom Cooper’s face. “Tie him up,” he ordered flatly. “And guard him well—I don’t want him getting to my quarry before me!” Looking down at Edward Spurling, he apologized charmingly, “I regret having suspected you, and I want to thank you for what you have done today—you have exposed the spy within our household and you may very well have saved my life! We will talk further upon my return.”

 

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