Which was ridiculous. Lucretia was never hesitant.
Messalina’s head felt too heavy to move. “He was planning to murder our brother. I think that’s quite unforgivable, don’t you?”
“Well, it certainly would be if Gideon intended to go through with it.” Lucretia paused, obviously trying to hold her opinion in, but then blurted, “But he said he wasn’t.”
Messalina could argue the point, but what was the use? Lucretia knew the reasons she’d made her decision.
It was all so useless.
“At least think about it again,” Lucretia urged anxiously. “We don’t have to make any decisions right away. Goodness, it’ll probably take weeks to arrive at Kester’s country estate. Always assuming we aren’t caught by Uncle Augustus first.”
Messalina simply closed her eyes instead of replying. She didn’t want to think about her uncle, and she wasn’t going to change her mind about Gideon. It had been hard enough to leave him—it had felt like tearing parts of her flesh off. She wasn’t going to go through that again.
There was a rummaging sound, then Lucretia muttered, “Hicks said he’d packed us some lemon curd tarts. Do you think he was lying to make me feel better? Because thinking there are tarts and then finding there aren’t is far worse than having none at all. What’s this?”
Messalina opened her eyes and saw that Lucretia was holding a leather envelope. She shrugged. “Keys handed it to me before I met you in the hall.”
“And you didn’t open it?” Lucretia gave her a sharp look.
Messalina closed her eyes again. “I didn’t see the point.”
“Humph.” Lucretia unfolded the envelope’s flap. “Papers, papers, this handwriting is nearly illegible…”
She fell silent.
Messalina wondered if she’d bother to get out of the carriage when they stopped for luncheon. She seemed to have lost all appetite for food.
Lucretia exclaimed, “Good God.”
“What?” Messalina asked listlessly.
“He’s given you over half your dowry with a promissory note for the other half when he obtains it.”
Messalina raised her head. “What?”
Lucretia was staring at her. “I thought Gideon married you for your money?”
“He did,” Messalina said dumbly.
Lucretia snorted. “He doesn’t seem particularly interested in it if so.”
“Let me see.” Messalina snatched the document from Lucretia’s hand, swiftly reading it. But it was merely a dry legal statement of what Lucretia had already said. “I don’t understand.”
Across from her Lucretia said, “That’s odd.”
“What is?” Messalina asked absently.
“There’s a necklace in here.”
Messalina looked up.
Gideon’s farthing pendant swung from Lucretia’s fingers.
“What a strange little thing,” her sister was saying. “Whyever would one string a farthing for a necklace?”
“Love,” Messalina whispered.
“What?”
“It means he loves me,” she said louder, and her heart seemed to jolt into life. “We have to turn the carriage around!”
Chapter Twenty
Winter came, and one day the fox returned home with a bloody head and a pair of golden earrings. He gave them to Bet and she put them in her ears.
“Why have you given me these?” she whispered.
“To remember me by,” the fox said, and he wasn’t mocking at all.
That night the red-haired man took Bet into his arms and made love to her.
The next day the fox did not return home.…
—From Bet and the Fox
Late that afternoon Gideon was staring at the crates of books in the library when he became aware that Keys was talking.
“…good news at any rate, don’t you think?”
Gideon blinked, glancing at the other man. How long had Keys been there? He honestly didn’t know.
“What good news?” he asked, because Keys had a worried line between his brows.
His gaze returned to the crates. Messalina’s books nearly filled the floor space. He’d been looking forward to seeing her face as she unpacked the rest of them.
“…Guv?”
“Sorry?” Gideon asked absently.
Keys took a deep breath, obviously trying to find patience as he began again. “Will Blackwell says as ’e’s ready to turn over the ledgers to me. ’E wants to meet with you before ’e does, and then ’e’ll travel to Newcastle. The business is doing well.”
Gideon stared at Keys. His business. His money. He’d thought of little else for years and years. Plotted and schemed to get right here, on the cusp of a fortune.
And now?
He gasped and bent over at the waist.
“Guv?” Keys sounded alarmed.
Gideon couldn’t reassure him because he was too busy choking on his own bitter laughter. Had he thought himself clever? More intelligent than anyone else? What a fool he was.
He’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted and lost the one person he needed to survive.
Oh God.
The thought sobered him abruptly, and Gideon dropped into the settee Messalina had picked out.
“Guv?”
Gideon shook his head, eyes closed. “I’ve lost her, Keys.”
“Then get ’er back.”
Gideon opened his eyes, if only to shoot Keys a weary look. “I can’t. I tried and failed.”
Keys wore the stubborn expression he normally had only when debating politics with Reggie. “You don’t give up, guv. Not on this. Beggin’ your pardon, but you need that woman.”
That at least was true.
“But it seems she doesn’t need me,” Gideon replied tiredly.
“Don’t know about that,” Keys said loyally. “The missus watched you a fair bit when you weren’t lookin’. Course,” he continued, “you’ll have to settle this business with the duke first.”
Gideon glanced at the clock. “He’s supposed to already be here. You did send that note, didn’t you?”
“Of course.” Keys gave him a wounded look and then furrowed his brow. “What if th’ duke tries to kill you?”
Gideon met his eyes and shrugged. “I’ll do what I have to.”
Keys nodded but looked worried. “Killing a duke, now that’s a rendezvous with the ’angman if ever I heard one.”
Gideon nodded. “I suppose, then, that I should do my best not to kill him.”
Keys shook his head. “I still say it could’ve been Greycourt who set those footpads on you.”
“Greycourt wouldn’t have endangered Messalina,” Gideon said with conviction.
Keys’s expressive eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. “So it must be the duke? Even though he wanted you to kill Greycourt? Seems a barmy plan to me.”
“Why not?” Gideon said bitterly. “The man’s insane. He’s finally decided I’m too dangerous to him.”
“But what about the highwaymen? The duke wouldn’t ’ave wanted you dead before you wed the missus,” Keys pointed out.
Gideon frowned. “I’m sure there are plenty who would not cry at my funeral—”
“Aye, you’ve a lot of enemies,” Keys muttered.
“But to actually pay hired assassins, not once, not twice, but thrice bespeaks not only hatred but planning and the means to carry it out…” Gideon shook his head. “This is someone who knows me.”
Keys threw his hands in the air. “It isn’t me nor Reggie or Pea, guv, swear on my ma’s grave.”
Gideon glanced at him irritably. “I know that.”
The door to the library opened. Reggie glanced nervously over his shoulder and intoned, “’Is Grace the Duke of—”
Windemere shoved him aside. “Yes, yes. Hawthorne! Where is he?”
Gideon stood slowly. “My money first.”
The duke glanced at Keys and then Reggie.
Gideon nodded at the big man. “You ca
n go.”
“And that one?” Windemere jerked his chin at Keys.
“He’s loyal to me,” Gideon said firmly. “He stays.”
“Very well.” Windemere scowled at him. “I dislike being summoned to your hovel like a common tinker.”
Gideon raised his brows. “I told you I couldn’t risk moving him.”
“Show me the proof.”
Keys looked nervous.
“As promised.” Gideon led the duke out of the library with Keys trailing uncertainly behind.
They made their way downstairs and to the hall that led to the kitchens.
“Your servants?” Windemere asked sharply.
“I’ve given them the night off,” Gideon said levelly.
He should be on his toes, alert to any danger, but he found it impossible to care.
He led the way through the kitchens and to the low entrance to the cellars, stopped, and jerked his head to the door. “Down there.”
Windemere looked between him and the door. “Show me.”
Gideon gritted his teeth and lit a candle. “Mind the steps.”
The stairs were shallow and wound around a central pillar, the way confined and slippery. Gideon kept his light high, and shadows loomed on the old stone walls of the cellar.
At the bottom the space was divided by crude wooden shelves, all but fallen down.
Gideon walked to the first shelf and halted.
The duke continued just past him, peering into the small space.
Gideon raised his candle so he could see.
Julian Greycourt lay crumpled facedown, the entire back of his head shining with blood. The sight was enough to turn a normal man’s stomach.
Not Windemere’s.
He began laughing.
Gideon stared in disgust for a moment before he motioned to Keys. “We’ve already drawn up the papers with an amendment to your earlier promissory note. We but need your signature.”
“Of course.” The duke continued to chortle to himself.
Keys had brought a flat wooden travel desk, and he held it steady as the duke signed the papers.
Windemere handed the papers to Gideon, a hideously triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Here’s your money, and cheap at that for a man’s blood.”
“Well,” drawled Greycourt as he turned over. “A pig’s blood, anyway.”
For a second the duke merely goggled at his nephew as the younger man stood and began brushing dust from his coat.
Then Windemere whirled on Gideon, his teeth bared. “You lying thief! You’ll not see a farthing of that dowry because—”
“Because you want this murder plot spread far and wide throughout London?” Gideon asked, head cocked.
Windemere’s eyes narrowed. “No one will believe you! No one.”
“Oh, but I’ve witnesses,” Gideon said as Quintus and Lord Rookewoode emerged from the dark farther back in the cellar.
Rookewoode brushed a cobweb from the shoulder of his exquisitely tailored coat. “I say, Greycourt. This is better than the pantomime.”
Windemere was staring at the earl, the color draining from his face. One thing to accuse a member of his family of lying.
Quite another to question the word of an earl.
“Are you really going to risk it?” Gideon asked.
The duke stood glaring. He slowly turned his head to Greycourt, staring at him almost hungrily. “I’ll have you. One of these days find your soft spot and then I’ll have you.”
Greycourt cocked his head and drawled, “But not today.”
Windemere had little else to do but leave the cellar after that, his face reddened with rage.
“Is that it, do you think?” Quintus asked.
“No,” Greycourt said. “Not at all. But for now he’s had his cannons spiked.” He looked at Rookewoode. “Thank you for coming on very short notice, my lord.”
Rookewoode smiled. “Anything for a friend.”
Greycourt nodded and turned to Gideon. “I think I owe you, brother-in-law, for warning me of my uncle’s plans.”
Gideon shrugged tiredly. “You helped me secure Messalina’s dowry. I think we’re even.”
Footsteps came running down the cellar stairs, and Gideon braced himself. Far too easy for Windemere to simply walk away. If the duke had come back to—
But it was Lucretia who appeared, panting.
“Where’s Messalina?” Gideon barked before she could speak.
Lucretia inhaled. “In the carriage. Out front. We were coming back to you and—” She shook her head, interrupting herself. “Never mind that. Mr. Blackwell has gone insane. He shoved his way into our carriage and sent me to say that he wants to speak to you.”
Gideon frowned. “What—?”
But Lucretia wasn’t done. She took a desperate gulp of air and blurted, “He has Messalina at gunpoint.”
* * *
Messalina stared at Will Blackwell across the carriage. Beside him was a hulking man Messalina remembered from the attack outside the theater. Mr. Blackwell held two pistols—carelessly, but she wasn’t so foolish as to think that he wouldn’t use them.
He’d already killed the driver of Freya’s carriage.
Thank God he hadn’t been interested in Lucretia. Thank God her sister had been sent outside to safety.
Messalina licked her lips and said with a firm voice, “Gideon won’t come out.”
Mr. Blackwell’s face shone with sweat, and a muscle under one eye was twitching.
Messalina no longer thought him handsome or urbane or charming. He was a mad fiend.
“He’ll come.” Mr. Blackwell lifted one of the pistols.
Messalina froze, but he was only changing position.
She was very much afraid Gideon would come out. “What will you do to him?”
“What do you think?” Mr. Blackwell said absently, parting the curtain at the carriage window to peer out. “I’m going to kill him—or have him killed.”
Her gaze met the hulking man’s dull eyes, and her heart seemed to freeze.
“Why?” she asked desperately.
Mr. Blackwell glanced at her irritably. “Because he’s about to give the business ledgers to his man. Keys would be bound to realize that I’ve embezzled from the mines.”
He meant to kill her. Why else tell her his motive so carelessly?
This was sheer madness. Did he really think he could kill either Gideon or her in broad daylight and get away with it? He’d be captured before he stepped from the carriage.
Of course, that might not save her or Gideon.
She swallowed and said with a semblance of outrage, “You’ve been stealing from Gideon?”
He shrugged, letting the curtain fall with a smirk. “For years.”
The carriage door abruptly opened, and Messalina’s heart near stopped when she saw Gideon climb in.
He started for her as the big man tensed, but Mr. Blackwell waved a pistol.
“No.” He nodded to the carriage’s floorboards. “Sit there, your legs crossed and with your hands in front of you.”
Gideon looked at him without moving.
Mr. Blackwell swung one of his pistols to Messalina’s head without taking his eyes off Gideon. “Unless you’d like me to shoot your wife right now?”
Gideon’s nostrils flared, but otherwise he remained impassive as he dropped to the carriage floor.
“Keep your eyes on him,” Mr. Blackwell instructed his bully, and then knocked on the roof with one of the pistols.
The carriage lurched into motion.
“I don’t know what your plan is, Will, but I doubt it will work,” Gideon said calmly.
He hadn’t looked at Messalina again since he’d been ordered to the floor. She found herself desperately longing for his gaze. If they weren’t somehow rescued…
Well. She wasn’t going to think about that.
“My plan,” Mr. Blackwell said, “is to kill both you and your lovely wife and then drain the business bank account
before buying a ticket abroad.” He shook his head with mock regret. “Simple. Easily done. This is your own fault, Gideon. We could’ve made so much more money if you’d hadn’t been so stubborn about using the boys in the mines.”
Boys? Messalina stared at Gideon. This was the first she’d heard of such a thing. How long had Gideon and Mr. Blackwell been arguing over how the business was run?
“You wanted boys under the age of fifteen to work those mines,” Gideon growled. “They’d come out crippled or worse. I’ll not have it.”
“They’d work for half the amount of a grown man.” Mr. Blackwell leaned forward, a sneer on his face. “Do you care so much for children you’ve never met?”
Gideon stared at him steadily. “Yes.”
“You can care about them in hell,” Mr. Blackwell hissed. “You and your wife.”
The carriage swung wide around a corner, jostling everyone inside.
In that moment Gideon sprang toward Mr. Blackwell. He caught both of the man’s wrists, swinging the pistol’s aim away from Messalina.
There was a terrible BANG followed immediately by a second report.
Smoke hung heavy in the carriage.
Both Mr. Blackwell and the huge man were wrestling Gideon now, and Gideon was favoring his right arm.
Messalina looked wildly around the carriage for something to use as a weapon. When she couldn’t find anything, she lifted her skirts and kicked as hard as she could at the huge man’s leg.
To her surprise the man recoiled with a roar. He lunged across the carriage toward Messalina.
She prepared for another kick, but Gideon wrested one of the pistols away from Mr. Blackwell. With a twist he hit the big man on the back of the head with the butt of the gun.
The man fell like a stone, narrowly missing Messalina’s feet.
The carriage jerked to a halt.
Mr. Blackwell swung at Gideon’s head with the other pistol. Gideon ducked aside. His hand shot out, connecting high on Mr. Blackwell’s left side.
The men froze for a moment.
Mr. Blackwell looked down and then up, his face twisted in shock.
Gideon drew back his hand, and Messalina saw that he held a bloody knife.
“You’ve stabbed me,” Mr. Blackwell said, his face white.
“I’ve killed you,” Gideon replied with grim satisfaction.
When a Rogue Meets His Match Page 30