by Bold, Diana
Adrian shook his head. “I just don’t think anything good will come of it.”
“I need to do this,” Morgan said, imploring them to understand and wondering why it was suddenly so important to him. When he’d walked in here ten minutes ago, it had been the furthest thing from his mind.
Perhaps it was the challenge. Perhaps it was the fact that they’d told him that he couldn’t. Perhaps he just needed something to fill the long, lonely hours of the night.
Adrian sighed. “Well, if you’re dead set on doing it, at least let me give you some pointers.”
Morgan gave his brother a quick smile, realizing as he did so how long it had been since he’d had a reason to smile. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”
Lucien still looked uncertain, but he didn’t argue, and for that, Morgan was grateful.
Chapter Two
Fiona took off her eyeglasses and eased back in her chair, gingerly sticking her feet up on the only clear spot on her battered desk, which was covered with ledgers and receipts. Exhaustion pulled heavily behind her eyes, and she wanted nothing more than to make her way to her small bedroom in Brookhaven’s attic and sleep until she had to be up at the crack of dawn to help Cook make the children’s breakfast.
Every minute of her day was filled with making sure that the orphanage ran smoothly, that each child got a little attention, and that the finances were in order. Long after the children had gone to bed, she remained here in her office, going over the books until she went cross-eyed. She worried so much that her wealthy benefactor, Adrian Strathmore, would stop funding the home. Therefore, she scrimped and saved, struggling to give the children the best life she could, while still managing to put away some money for a rainy day.
Life had taught her that you couldn’t count on anybody but yourself.
For five precious minutes, she allowed herself to relax, feeling the tension in the back of her neck slowly drain away. But that was all she allowed herself. When the big grandfather clock out in the hallway struck midnight, she pushed herself to her feet, then went to the locked drawer in the corner. Opening it, she pulled out Prometheus’s mask and cloak.
Three days had passed since her first successful rescue. Molly was adjusting well, and she still had four empty to beds to fill before the orphanage would be at full capacity. She knew she couldn’t save all the children, but as long as Brookhaven had empty beds, she was going to continue the work that Adrian had started.
Besides, the prickle of danger had made her feel alive for the first time in longer than she could remember. She loved her work, but sometimes the long monotonous days drained the very heart and soul out of her. She cleaned, cooked, answered a thousand questions, bandaged small cuts and scrapes, and gave hugs and kisses, but she had no one to really talk to, no one to share her burdens with. At least not since Adrian had found Vanessa.
Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them rapidly away, stunned. How long had it been since she’d cried? Years. She didn’t have time for emotion, but... she missed her friend. She’d been sincerely happy that he’d found someone, and she’d grown to love Vanessa like a sister, but they were busy with their own lives now, especially now that they had baby Anne. Although they occasionally stopped by to visit the children, and Adrian continued to put money in Brookhaven’s account, everything had changed.
Squaring her shoulders, she shoved the mask and cape into a small carpetbag and made her way through the huge, quiet house. Slipping out the kitchen door, she headed across the garden to the street behind the house where she’d flag down a hack.
She hadn’t made it a dozen yards when a shadow separated itself from the tree in front of her, and a man stepped into her path. Her heart leaped into her throat, only to subside at the sight of the mask and cape similar to the ones in her bag.
“Adrian,” she whispered. “You scared the life out of me.”
He took her hand and pulled her back toward the house, stepping into a pool of light that spilled out from the kitchen. Before she could say anything else, he pulled off the mask, revealing Adrian’s face, only without the tracery of scars that made her friend so distinctive.
“Mr. Strathmore,” she said in confusion, realizing this was Adrian’s twin, Morgan. Though she’d met him a few times and had taken care of his infant daughter after his wife’s death, she didn’t really know him at all and couldn’t imagine what he’d be doing here at this time of night.
Dressed as Prometheus, no less!
A sinking feeling took root in the pit of her stomach.
“Hello, Mrs. Bohannan,” he said quietly. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
She shook her head, an unease of a different kind growing within her. Adrian’s scars somehow made him approachable. Though he was handsome and of noble birth, he’d never made her feel beneath him in any way. This man, however, was so gorgeous with his inky-black hair, ice-blue eyes, and perfectly formed features that she always felt a little tongue-tied in his presence.
Morgan sighed and ran a hand through his thick hair, mussing it a bit, which was, if anything, even more attractive. “Someone has been masquerading as Prometheus,” he said bluntly. “For the past two nights, I’ve been haunting the East End, hoping to catch the bastard in the act. But it finally occurred to me that if whoever he is truly knew anything about what my brothers and I have been doing, he might think to come here.”
Did he suspect her? Unable to read him at all, she tried to subdue her racing heart. The thought crossed her mind that she should simply come clean about her activities, but he seemed so angry.
What right did he have to be angry? As far as she knew, he’d never donned the mask himself until the last two days. And he hadn’t used it to help people; he only intended to stop the person who was actually trying to make a difference in the world.
She lifted her chin, determined not to make things easy for him. “I don’t know who the new Prometheus is. And I don’t care. All I know is that children are being brought to me again.”
His blue eyes widened in surprise. “You mean, someone is actually rescuing children and bringing them here to you?”
Damn it! She’d given him information that he didn’t have, and in doing so, she’d made herself even more of a suspect.
She crossed her arms stubbornly. “I really don’t feel comfortable talking about this with you outside in the middle of the night. If you’d like to come back tomorrow, we can discuss it then.”
A frown settled on his handsome face. “What are you doing out here this late anyway?”
“I don’t answer to you. I don’t even have to answer to Adrian.” She glared at him, daring him to dispute it. Though Adrian owned the orphanage and gave it monetary support, he had never interfered with the day-to-day operations. Even if he did, she wasn’t beholden to him after hours, and he’d be the first to tell his brother that.
Morgan sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. “You’re right. I just don’t like the idea of someone playing at being Prometheus. It’s not a game, and I don’t want either of my brothers to be harmed by this.”
“You’re the ones treating this as a game!” Anger suddenly erupted out of her, anger she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding onto until this very moment. “The three of you only care about those poor unfortunate children when it suits you! Whoever has donned the mask now knows that children are being raped and abused in the most heinous ways every single day. I’m happy that Adrian has found some happiness, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t still a need for Prometheus.”
“Mrs. Bohannan,” he murmured, reaching out and putting a placating hand on her shoulder, obviously shocked by her vehement response. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Do you think we don’t know that this ugliness still exists? But we can’t save everyone, and why is it incumbent on us to try?”
She shrugged his hand away. “I know that you can’t save everybody. But you can save one child at a time.” She blinked rapidly, refusing to g
ive in to her threatening tears. “Do you think that Molly, the little girl Prometheus brought to me three nights ago, doesn’t deserve a chance at a normal life?”
“Molly?” Morgan’s eyes lit up. “Can I speak to her? Maybe she knows something that will help.”
“No!” she snapped, realizing that once again, she’d said too much. “As I pointed out, it’s the middle of the night. I am not going to let you wake up that poor child and interrogate her. She’s been through enough!”
“I didn’t mean right now,” he snapped back. “I can come back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow isn’t good either,” she told him, her heart thundering in her chest. Why had she mentioned the girl? She could already tell that this man was going to be like a dog with a bone until he got his way. And once he did, once Molly told him that Prometheus was a woman, it wouldn’t be hard for him to connect the dots. “I’m not letting any men near Molly until she’s settled in here. She needs to feel safe and comfortable after what she’s been through.”
He dropped his gaze, seeming to realize that they were talking about a real little girl who had suffered terribly. “Of course,” he muttered. “I’m not trying to antagonize you, Mrs. Bohannan. I just want to get to the bottom of this.”
“Even if I knew who Prometheus was, I wouldn’t tell you!” Giving him one last glare, she spun on her heels and headed back toward the house, her anger mounting at the fact that Morgan Strathmore had inadvertently stymied the night’s rescue mission.
MORGAN’S FRUSTRATION grew as Fiona Bohannan walked away from him, her chin high and her shoulders squared. He’d forgotten what a fierce little thing she was. He’d also forgotten how very lovely she could be, all full of righteous indignation with her green eyes spitting fire and her auburn hair cascading around her slim shoulders.
The very thought seemed disloyal to Anne, but once it had taken hold, he couldn’t shake it. During the time after Anne’s death, when Fiona had taken care of baby Felicity for him, he’d been so full of guilt and anguish that he hadn’t taken much note of the woman. He’d appreciated that she’d been there for his daughter when he’d been unable to do it himself, but he’d seen her as little more than hired help, someone his brothers had arranged to provide a service.
Somewhat chagrined, he faded back into the shadows, staring at the house pensively and noticing when a light came on so very high up that it had to be the attic. Did Fiona sleep in the part of the house that would swelter the most in the summer and freeze in the winter? No one would blame her if she took one of the better rooms for herself. Lord knew she did enough for the place.
He stared down at Prometheus’s mask, which he still held in his hands, and brought it up into a pale sliver of moonlight. It seemed to mock him, the sightless eyes daring him to do something.
Fiona’s words had struck him deeply. He didn’t blame Adrian for hanging up the mask and moving on with his life. However, Fiona was right. So many children still needed rescuing, and if the imposter was actually doing that, then how could he be so selfish as to only think how it might affect his family?
Slipping the mask back on his face, he decided that perhaps instead of trying to unmask the new Prometheus, he should think of how best to give him a hand.
Chapter Three
“Ma’am, there’s a gentleman here to see you.”
Fiona looked up from her ledgers to find Bridget, one of the older girls, standing nervously in the doorway of her office.
Bridget stepped closer, lowering her voice, her blue eyes wide with awe. “A real gentleman, ma’am. Mr. Morgan Strathmore.”
Suppressing a sigh, Fiona sat back in her chair and glanced at herself in the mirror across the room. She looked a mess, tired and disheveled. She pushed a few strands of auburn hair behind her ear, then realized what she was doing and stopped. It wasn’t as though a man like him would be attracted to her, not even if she was fresh from a bath and wearing her finest dress. And, in any event, why should she care what he thought of her? “Send him in.”
Bridget nodded and scurried away, and Fiona tried to control her racing heart. On some level, she’d known he’d call today. He wasn’t the sort of man to make false threats or promises. She wasn’t sure which of those their conversation last night had been, and perhaps that disconcerted her most of all.
Moments later, Bridget returned, Morgan Strathmore in tow. If possible, he looked even more wildly attractive this afternoon than he had last night. He wore a pearl-gray morning suit with a sky-blue cravat, which made his startling azure eyes even more breathtaking. His black hair had been ruthlessly slicked back, but the look on his face was a bit wary and uncertain.
“Good afternoon,” he murmured, after Bridget had left.
She gestured toward the chair that faced her desk, girding herself against the undeniable attraction she felt for him. “I’m not sure why you’ve come,” she said coldly. “I thought we’d said everything that needed to be said last night.”
He sat down, frowning. “I hoped that after you had a chance to think about it, you’d change your mind.”
She shook her head. “I think you’ll find that I very rarely change my mind.”
A sudden smile curved his lips, and she caught her breath as she realized this was the first time she’d ever seen him do so. “I find that a very admirable trait, Mrs. Bohannan.”
She blinked, suddenly off-balance and uncertain. “Do you?”
He sighed and nodded. “I’m sorry for the way I acted last night. I don’t know why I’ve become so angry and obsessed with the thought of finding out who is impersonating Prometheus.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, and she suddenly realized that he, too, looked tired. He probably hadn’t slept any more than she had last night. “I suppose I just needed to take an interest in something, anything other than my own grief.”
All of her ire fled at this reminder of what he’d suffered last year. He’d lost his wife, for goodness’ sake. She supposed she really couldn’t blame him for trying to get his mind off it.
“I’m sorry for my behavior as well,” she managed stiffly. “I’m just trying to protect the children.”
He leaned forward, hand outstretched. “Truce?”
She stared at his hand suspiciously for half a second, then sighed and reached out and took it. He squeezed briefly, and a tingling feeling unlike anything she’d ever known raced up her arm. She snatched her hand back, stunned. Was this what desire felt like?
He cleared his throat, also seeming a bit stunned. “Well... I just wanted you to know that you gave me quite a lot to think about last night. I suppose I may have jumped to conclusions when I assumed that this new Prometheus meant my family harm. If he truly is doing this for altruistic reasons, I have no desire to stop him.”
“That makes me very glad.” Relief pulsed through her, but she still wasn’t completely sure she could trust him. In all her life, she’d only truly trusted Adrian, and she had to caution herself against trusting Morgan simply because he looked so much like her friend.
He glanced around the office, and she suddenly realized that she’d left a small corner of Prometheus’s cape hanging out of the drawer she’d put it in. Her heart stopped for a moment, but his gaze passed on, and she told herself that a scrap of crimson fabric was not too incriminating in and of itself. She’d have to be more careful in the future though, now that he seemed to be making a habit of dropping by unannounced.
His gaze returned to her. “Adrian tells me you are the hardest worker he’s ever known, that this place could not exist without you.”
Heat crept up her cheeks, and she found she couldn’t hold his eyes. “I’m very passionate about what I do here. It’s my whole life.”
“Well, it so happens that I’m looking for something to feel passionately about as well.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Is there anything I could do to help you?”
“Of course,” she said immediately. “Brookhaven could always use more donations.” Though the Strat
hmores already provided nearly all of the funds she used to run the orphanage, most of that came from Adrian and his brothers. While Morgan did donate a small amount each month, she was sure he could afford more.
He waved a deprecating hand. “I’ll triple my monthly donation. But that isn’t what I meant. I’d like to actually volunteer here. Interact with these children in a meaningful way.”
She stared at him in surprise. “The children are always happy to have visitors. Adrian drops by often to read to the boys. But I’m sure that a man like you has better things to do with his time. And what about your own children?”
He winced a bit, and she wished she could call those words back. She’d been less than kind to him when Felicity was here. She’d judged Morgan harshly for allowing his brother to make arrangements for the little girl while he grieved, but she’d never been through what he had. Perhaps she should have been more understanding.
“I can bring my children with me, if it’s all right with you,” he said at last. “They will enjoy playing with the others.”
She sighed and nodded. “If you truly wish to help out, I’ll find something for you to do.”
He smiled that dazzling smile again, then got to his feet. “Excellent. I’ll see you soon then.”
She couldn’t help but smile back at him. “I look forward to it.”
WHEN HE ARRIVED HOME, Morgan shut the door to the nursery and leaned against it, taking a moment to watch his children play. Little Felicity sat in the center of the soft pink rug, holding a rattle in her chubby hand as she laughed uproariously at her older sister Hannah, who was doing somersaults in a circle around her. His son, Samuel, was completely focused on his toy soldiers, waging an elaborate two-front campaign.