“According to the reports, you were being held in a tent. How did you see the explosion and fire yourself? How did you know Evert had been caught in it?”
He shifted his attention back to the window. She thought he was going to ignore her again, but he finally spoke. “If Evert Larson is alive, why did he wait two years before returning?”
“An interesting question, but I find it strange that you don’t ask the obvious one.”
“What obvious question?” he demanded, turning back again.
“Why me?” Kendra watched him closely, saw his mouth tighten. “People who feel wronged always ask that question. But maybe you didn’t ask because you know exactly why Evert would target you. What happened in Spain?”
“Nothing, damn you,” he hissed.
He seemed relieved when the hackney drew to a stop. He suddenly leaned forward, close enough for Kendra to see the coldness in his gray eyes, like chips of dirty ice. “You would do well to stop with these inquiries, Miss Donovan.” He thrust open the door and stepped down. “They are dangerous.”
“That sounds like a warning,” Kendra said, and slid over to follow him. “It’s only a matter of time before the truth comes out. I’m not the only one making inquiries.”
“I am giving you sound advice—What the devil?”
Kendra saw the horror on Mobray’s face an instant before she heard the scrape of a shoe behind her, and too late she realized her mistake. Her muscles tightened, and she began to spin with some thought of kicking out, but in the next instant, her world exploded with pain, her vision going red before splintering into darkness.
48
Alec and Sam’s greatcoats flapped open as they ran up the steps to the Duke’s mansion, and, without ceremony, catapulted themselves through the door. They came to an abrupt stop when they came upon the Duke and Harding facing Snake. At their sudden entrance, the Duke spun around, and there was something in the man’s eyes that sent a terrible fear spearing through Alec. Instinctively, his gaze swept the entrance hall for Kendra.
“Where’s Kendra?” he demanded sharply.
The Duke straightened. “I don’t think there is any cause for alarm,” he said, but his expression was uneasy. “Snake and Kendra went to see Bear—”
“Bear!” Ice clutched at Alec’s stomach. The woman was going to drive him mad. He grasped Snake’s thin arm and fought the urge to shake him. “Why the devil did she do that? Where is she?”
“Oy! Let go!” Snake tried to squirm away, but Alec kept a firm grasp on him.
“Alec, let the child go!” Aldridge ordered.
Alec yanked the boy to the door. “Take me to her. And if the bastard has touched a hair on her head, I swear to God—”
The Duke shouted, “Alec, stop it!”
“She ain’t with Bear now, gov’ner!” Snake cried, struggling. “As soon as she laid ’er peepers on his tattoo, she told me ter come ’ere and tell ye gentry morts w’ots ’appened.”
Alec stopped, but didn’t let go of Snake. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”
Sam frowned. “The lass wanted ter look at Bear’s tattoo? What for?”
“Let the boy go,” the Duke said again, catching Alec’s gaze. “Kendra learned something important. The symbol—it’s not a crucifix. It’s a rune.”
“Nod His—that’s its name,” said Snake.
The Duke eyed the boy. “Yes, well, I don’t think that’s the correct name. But Snake here says it means survival, willpower, and fate. I think—”
“Evert Larson is alive,” snapped Alec, and waved his hand at his uncle’s shocked expression. “I know.”
“How—?”
“Never mind that now.” He looked at Snake. “If she’s not with Bear, where did she go?”
“Calm down, my boy,” said the Duke. “Snake said that she went to save a man from being murdered. Obviously she was referring to Captain Mobray.” Alec began striding for the door, but the Duke called, “Wait! She may be on her way back home right now.”
“Then it won’t matter, will it?” Alec hoped to God that it wouldn’t matter. He’d rather be chasing after Kendra like a fool than sitting on his arse, waiting for her to come home like a bloody half-wit.
“I’m coming with you!” Sam called out, and sprinted to catch up with the marquis.
“Take the carriage!” the Duke shouted after them.
“Gor!” exclaimed Snake, ogling the Duke. “Is it always so excitin’ in yer ’ousehold, Yer Grace?”
Aldridge’s eyes dropped to the boy while Harding rushed forward to close the door. “Only in the last six months, Snake.”
A light snow had begun falling by the time Alec and Sam jumped out of the carriage in front of Mobray’s residence. In the distance, Alec could hear the sounds of traffic, but Sackville Street was fairly quiet, save two dandies drunkenly meandering down the pavement, their arms slung over the other’s shoulder.
A sickening fear burned a hole in Alec’s gut as he rushed up the outer steps. He whipped open the door and raced up the stairs to Mobray’s rooms on the third floor. Behind him, Sam huffed up the two flights.
“Christ.” Sam bent over after coming to the third-story landing. He placed a hand on each knee as he tried to suck in deep gulps of air.
Alec was already at Mobray’s door, pounding his fist against the panel. “Captain Mobray! Open up! Mobray!”
Sam finally managed to regain his breath. “He ain’t home, milord. No reason ter not open the door. He ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”
A door across the hall opened, and a thin young man glared out at them. He was in his shirtsleeves, clutching the ends of his loose cravat. “What the blazes is going on out here? I am attempting to create the Mathematician, you know,” he informed them with a haughty accent, glancing down at the cravat around his neck. “It may look simple, but it is devilishly tricky. And it certainly doesn’t help when you are making such a god-awful commotion!”
“Do you know where Captain Mobray is?” Alec demanded.
“I don’t know. I believe he mentioned receiving an invitation to attend the theater. Or perhaps it was—”
“Did you see a young lady around here? Dark hair, dark eyes, beautiful.” Alec brought up his hand, let it hover in the air. “About this high?”
The other man’s lip curled. “No, but she wouldn’t be a lady if she came here to see Captain Mobray, would she—oof!” The air was pushed out of his lungs when Alec sprung across the hallway and shoved him up against his doorframe.
“I’d think very carefully before you say anything derogatory about the lady,” Alec said with silken heat, his arm across the other man’s throat. “How long ago did Captain Mobray leave?”
“I don’t know,” the man squeaked. “Forty minutes ago? An hour? I-I only heard his door slam when he left. The walls in this building are as thin as paper. I’m certain he hailed a hackney and went to the theater as he planned. Perhaps you ought to look there.”
“Which theater?” But then Alec’s knees went weak as his words registered. “A hackney . . .” He let go of the man, who clutched at his throat and slumped against the wall.
Alec’s gaze met Sam’s, and he saw a matching horror. He spun back to face the dandy. “Did you see the hackney?”
“No. I told you, I only heard the door shut when he left!”
“How do you know Captain Mobray had plans for the theater?”
The man gaped at him. “I encountered him earlier in the afternoon. I inquired whether he would be attending the Duchess of Bedfordshire’s ball tonight, but he said that he’d been invited to the theater. That is all I know!”
Alec looked at Sam. “Do you believe it?”
“I’m telling the truth!” the man swore.
Alec shot him a scathing look. “Not you, you bloody fool!” To Sam, he said, “Do you think it was a trap?”
“I don’t know. It could have been,” Sam said. “But we don’t know whether Miss Donovan is with the capta
in. She may have come here, but that doesn’t mean she encountered him. She may be back at Grosvenor Square as we speak.”
Alec knew that was true, and he might be overreacting. Except he still had the gut-clenching sensation that something was seriously wrong, and Kendra was in danger.
He sucked in a shaky breath and lifted his hat to run agitated fingers through his hair. Think. “All right,” he finally said. “We’ll go back to Grosvenor Square. If Kendra is there, she’ll want to accompany us to the Larsons.”
“And if she ain’t there?” Sam asked.
“If she isn’t there, the Larsons will most likely be able to lead us to their son.”
“And if they don’t know where he is?” Sam persisted, but then his mouth compressed, as though he regretted asking the question.
“They’ll know,” Alec snapped out, ignoring the ball of ice in his gut that was telling him that he was wrong.
For the second time that evening, Alec burst into the Duke’s house, startling the footman who was flirting with a maid in a shadowy corner. Alec demanded, “Is she here?”
“Sir?” The footman, flushing red, straightened, while the maid melted away.
“Kendra—Miss Donovan,” Alec said sharply. “Has she returned?”
“I-I’m not certain—”
Hell. Alec pushed past him, sprinting up the stairs. He knew—God, he knew—even before he thrust open the door to the study that Kendra wouldn’t be inside. His gaze locked on his uncle, who was rising from his desk chair.
“Alec?”
“Kendra has not returned?” he demanded.
The Duke frowned. “No. Did you speak to Captain Mobray?”
“He wasn’t at home. His neighbor said that he’d been invited to the theater. He left in a hackney.” He saw alarm flare in his uncle’s eyes, and turned back around.
“Where are you going?” demanded the Duke.
He paused, glancing back at his uncle. “The Larsons. They should know the whereabouts of their son!”
The Duke came around the desk. “I’m coming with you.”
Alec hesitated. “If Kendra has been delayed for some reason—”
“Harding will send word. Where is Mr. Kelly?”
“He’s waiting for me in the carriage.”
“Good.” Aldridge grabbed Alec’s arm. “Kendra does know how to take care of herself, Alec.”
“I pray to God you’re right.”
49
Awareness came to Kendra with the hot, stabbing pain behind her left ear, and a vague sense of discomfort everywhere else. She heard a groan. It took her a minute to realize that she’d issued the broken sound. She struggled to open her eyes, the fluttering movement like a spike being driven into her eyeballs, followed by a wave of dizziness. She instantly reacted by squeezing her eyes shut, groaning again as nausea rolled through her. Shit, shit, shit.
Sweat popped up on her brow as she fought the queasiness twisting her stomach. Christ, did she have a concussion? At least she hadn’t been gagged. If she threw up, she wouldn’t now choke on her own vomit.
After a moment, the pain and dizziness receded slightly. Most of her physical pain was coming from her head, where she’d been coldcocked. She became aware that she was on the floor, slumped against a wall. The cold and damp penetrated her layers of clothing. Her wrists were bound with rope—hemp, she was sure. It pinched her wrists, causing her fingertips to go numb. Though that could have been the chill in the room.
She became conscious of the smell of dust and decay. Not the human kind, thank God, but the kind brought on by neglect, like rotting wood and mildew. There were other odors, as well: linseed oil, and something chemical. And . . . was that blood?
Breathe in. Breathe out.
She wasn’t the only one breathing. She became conscious of the ragged sound beside her, then the clink of metal against glass farther away.
Ignoring her throbbing head, Kendra forced her eyes open. The room was long and narrow, seething with deep shadows kept at bay by several candelabras and a half dozen oil lamps. The candelabras were set on a rough bench against the wall on the other side of the room. The flames from the candles glinted off an array of glass beakers, test tubes, and flasks. The oil lamps were scattered across the grimy floor, illuminating the pallet in the corner topped with a pillow and thick quilts.
Kendra’s gaze locked on a tall, broad-shouldered figure standing in front of the workbench. His back was to her, his concentration on mixing some sort of concoction in a glass beaker, the source of metal clinking against glass. He still wore the greatcoat he’d worn as a hackney driver, but he’d removed the tricorn hat and scarf. As she watched, he turned slightly, and she caught his profile, the murky light in the room limning red, twisted flesh.
He was a demon. A demon straight from Hell. She remembered Ella’s horror.
“He’s mad.”
Carefully, Kendra turned her throbbing head to look at the man who’d issued that rough whisper. Captain Mobray was sitting beside her, back against the wall, his legs out. Instead of rope, his wrists were manacled together, his fists clenched on his lap. His face was ashen and sweaty with fear. As she met his gaze, she saw that his pupils were dilated with horror.
Kendra straightened, curling and uncurling her fingers to bring some feeling back into them. Thankfully, he’d tied her hands in front of her. Not that she couldn’t have gotten out of having them tied behind her back, but it would have required more of an effort. Effort that would draw his attention.
Slowly she brought her bound hands to her chest. Beneath her cloak and dress, the arrowhead pendant lay heavy against her breastbone.
“We must do something,” Captain Mobray hissed beside her.
“Where’s my reticule?” she whispered.
Mobray stared at her. “Your reticule? Who fucking cares about your reticule?”
She had a brief flash of the pouch on the hackney seat. Damn. She’d gotten down so fast to keep pushing Mobray, she’d left it behind. Stupid.
“Are you listening to me?” Mobray hissed.
“No.” She focused on sliding her bound hands up to her throat, her fingers tangling with the delicate chain, tugging.
“He’s going to kill us,” the captain persisted, his breath hitching a little. The man’s arrogance had crumbled. She shot him another glance, saw him lick his lips. His eyes darted to Evert Larson, still occupied at the workbench. “He’s going to kill us just like Sir Giles and Cross.”
“And why is that?” she finally hissed back. “What did you do to him in Spain?”
“’Tis a story I want to hear as well,” Evert Larson said with eerie calm, slowly turning around. “It is the only reason you still live, Captain Mobray.”
Kendra’s throat tightened as she turned to the macabre visage. And realized she’d made her second mistake that evening.
“Is your master at home?” demanded the Duke as soon as the Larsons’ butler opened the door. “We must see him immediately.”
The servant blinked, clearly startled to find such an august personage as the Duke of Aldridge knocking on the door. His gaze traveled to Alec and Sam with much the same bemusement. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Sam would have been amused by the other man’s expression, given how many times he’d encountered butlers who’d looked down their noses at him when he’d knocked on the doors of his betters.
“Now, if you please,” snapped Aldridge.
The servant jerked to attention. “Please, come inside.” He stepped back, allowing them to enter. “I shall inform my master that you wish to see him—”
“Take us to him, or I’ll find him myself,” Alec said, the look in his green eyes lethal.
Astrid emerged from the shadows of the hall, the skirts of her blue silk evening gown whispering over the floor. “What is the meaning of this?”
Aldridge said, “We are here about your son, Evert.”
Sam couldn’t identify the emotion that rippled across the beautiful
face. “Evert?”
“We know that he survived his ordeal in Spain,” Alec said harshly. “He returned to England on the Magdalena a month ago—”
“Ordeal?” She cut him off, practically spitting out the word. Her eyes were like a blue flame as she gave them a contemptuous look. “Is that what you call it when a brave young man serves his country, and is betrayed by his own countrymen?”
“Where is he?” Alec demanded. “Where is your son?”
She glared at him, her jaw becoming rigid. “Evert is dead. He died in Spain.”
“Bloody hell,” Alec swore. “Where is your husband?”
She laughed, but it was sharp crack filled with bitterness. “Do you think he will tell you anything different?”
The Duke said, “Your son returned from Spain. We know this is true. We also know he murdered Sir Giles and Lord Cross. Now he has taken Captain Mobray. But we think that my ward, Miss Donovan, was with Captain Mobray, and she may have been taken too. We need to know where your son may have taken her. Please, Mrs. Larson, I beg of you . . . you must tell me where your son is!”
“My son would never hurt Miss Donovan,” she whispered, balling her one hand into a fist and pressing it against her stomach. Sam saw the flicker of fear in her artic blue eyes.
“Where is your husband?” Alec demanded again.
Astrid squared her shoulders, her look scathing. “He is not home. I’ve told you everything. You must leave now.”
A muscle jumped in Alec’s jaw, and he took a threatening step forward, but the Duke laid a hand on his arm to stop him. He looked at Astrid. “Mrs. Larson, we must find Evert. This . . . vendetta of his must be stopped before anyone else is harmed.”
She shifted her gaze to meet his. “I’m telling you the truth. Evert is dead,” she said coldly. “You may search this house if you don’t believe me.”
The butler shuffled forward. “If I would be so bold, my mistress is speaking the truth, sir. The master and Mr. Larson are not in residence. They left earlier for the apothecary shop.”
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