Wicked

by Shannon Drake

  Ralph squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, you see, that wouldn’t have happened. We never got that far.”

  Hurt, as well as dismay, suddenly filled her. She had a job now! A perfectly respectable job. Work that filled her with fascination and paid quite decently. She could support the two of them—and Ralph—decently, if not in the lap of luxury, without his resorting to any criminal trickery.

  “Pray, tell me, what prevented the two of you from getting your fool selves killed?” she demanded.

  He squirmed in the badly upholstered seat once again. “Carlyle Castle,” he said, his eyes downcast.

  “Do go on!” she said.

  His lashes flickered and he said defensively, “It’s because Tristan does dote on you so, Camie, that he seeks another way to set you up properly in society.”

  Camille stared at him, anger growing in her heart, then dissipating. There was simply no way to explain to Ralph that she would never be a part of “society.” Perhaps her father had been a nobleman; perhaps the fellow had even married her mother in some secret ceremony. The ring she had worn had been testament to a man regarding her mother with at least enough affection to invest in a fine piece of jewelry.

  The world believed that Camille was the child of a distant relative of Tristan’s, a man knighted for his gallantry in Her Majesty’s Service in the Sudan. But it wasn’t the truth. And there would never be such a thing as a socially prominent marriage, or a season or anything resembling the like. And if she pushed too hard, the truth would be discovered.

  The truth was not attractive in the least. Her mother had been a prostitute; she had died in Whitechapel. Once upon a time, she had surely had dreams of a different life. But she had fallen in love and been discarded in London’s East End, disinherited and penniless. Whoever Camille’s father was, he had long disappeared by the time she was nine years old. And Tess Jardinelle died in the same streets she had worked. If Tristan hadn’t come along that day…

  “Ralph,” she said with a heavy sigh, “please, just explain.”

  “The gates were ajar,” he said simply.

  “They were ajar?” she demanded.

  “All right…they were locked. But there is a break in the wall, and it seemed quite tempting to an adventurer such as Tristan.”

  “Adventurer!”

  Ralph flushed but did not revise his adjective. “There were no dogs about. It was early evening. There are stories about the wolves that prowl the forest, but you know Tristan. He thought that we should just venture in.”

  “I see. Just to enjoy the grounds and the moonlight?”

  Ralph shrugged uncomfortably. “All right. Tristan believed there might be some trinket…just to be found on the ground, which might fetch a fortune if sold to the right people, in the right places. That’s all. It was nothing heinous or evil. He believed he might find something that wouldn’t even be missed by one so great as the Earl of Carlyle, and that might still bring about a great deal of money when sold—properly.”

  “Black market!”

  “He wants the best for you. And there is that young man at the museum who has shown such an interest!”

  Camille could not help but roll her eyes. He was referring to Sir Hunter MacDonald, a “consultant” to Lord David Wimbly and the titular head of the Antiquities section, due to his experience at Egyptian digs and, no doubt, the vast amounts of money he had contributed to the museum.

  Hunter was attractive. He was quite dashing, really. And he’d earned his knighthood in the service, as well. Tall, charming, well-spoken and broad shouldered. Yet, though she did enjoy his company, she was careful. Despite his allure, his continued flattery and attempts at something closer, she never forgot the circumstances of her birth. Many times she had imagined her mother, alone and beautiful, trusting in just such a man, her heart outweighing and denying all logic and reality.

  She knew Hunter was interested in her, but there was no future there. No matter what his compliments and kind words, she was certain that she was not the type such a man would bring home to his mama.

  In her life, she would accept no less than a real commitment. There could be no such thing as falling head over heels in love, or letting passion rule her mind. And Camille meant to keep her pride, dignity—and position—at all costs. The thought of losing her employment at the museum was one she refused to entertain, and it was why she was determined to be so careful now.

  “I want no young man, Ralph, who is not interested in me for myself.”

  “That’s well and good, Camille. But we are living in a society that seeks pedigrees and riches.”

  She nearly groaned aloud. “A record of arrest and time served, or a guardian with an address such as Newgate, would not give me riches or a pedigree, Ralph.”

  “Oh, come. Please, Camille, we intended nothing really evil! Outlaws and highwaymen have become quite famous and revered in legend for stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. We just happen to be the poor.”

  “And outlaws and highwaymen have dangled from ropes far too many times!” she reminded him, eyes flashing. “I have been trying, with the patience of a saint, one might say, to explain to you both that stealing is not just considered to be evil, it’s illegal!”

  “Ah, Camie girl!” Ralph said miserably. His eyes fell to the table again. “Might I have another gin?”

  “Certainly not!” Camille said. “You’ve got to keep your wits about you, and finish this story so that I know what can be done! Where is Tristan now? Has he been taken before a magistrate? What on earth will I ever be able to do? And if Tristan was caught…?”

  “He pushed me back behind the trees and allowed himself to be taken,” Ralph said.

  “So he has been arrested?” she said.

  Ralph shook his head. He bit his lip and told her, “He’s at Carlyle Castle. At least, I think he’s still there. I came as quickly as I could.”

  “Oh, dear God! They’ve surely had him taken to some jail by now!” she exclaimed.

  To her surprise, he shook his head once again. “No, you see, I heard the beast.”

  “Pardon?”

  “He was there. The Earl of Carlyle was there, riding this massive, black, very evil-looking steed! Huge, it were! And he was shouting to his men, telling them that the trespasser must be held, and that…”

  “And that what?”

  “He could never be allowed to say what he had seen.”

  She stared at him, confused, the cold that had once trickled at her neck now an icicle driving brutally into her flesh.

  “What did you see?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nothing! Honestly, nothing. But there were men with Carlyle. And they dragged Tristan to the castle with them.”

  “How did you know that it was Carlyle—the beast?” she asked.

  Ralph shuddered. “The mask!” he said softly.

  “He wears a mask?”

  “Oh, yes. The man is a monster. Surely, you’ve heard.”

  “He is crippled, bent over and wears a mask?”

  “No, no, he is huge. Well, very tall in his saddle. And he wears a mask. In leather, I believe, but it has the visage of a beast. Part lion, perhaps. Or wolf. Or dragon. It is horrid, that’s all I can say. His voice is like thunder, deep…as if he is indeed cursed of the devil himself! But it was him. Aye, it was him!”

  She stared at Ralph.

  Ralph shook his head in misery. “Tristan would strangle me if he knew that he’d sacrificed himself just so that I would worry you, but…he can’t be left there. Even if the police suspect him of being a robber…”

  Yes, that would be better. If only Tristan had been hauled back to London to face accusation and trial, she could somehow pay for his legal defense. She could go before the magistrate herself and plead that he was going mad, that age had been stealing his senses. She could have…God knew what she could have done.

  But, according to Ralph, Tristan was still at Carlyle Castle, held prisoner by a man with a r
eputation for merciless brutality. She rose.

  “What are you going to do?” Ralph demanded.

  “What else?” she demanded with a weary sigh. “I am going to Carlyle Castle.”

  Ralph shuddered. “I have done the wrong thing. Tristan would not want you throwing yourself into danger.”

  She felt a great pang of sorrow for Ralph, yet, what had he expected?

  “I will not be in danger,” she assured him, smiling wearily. “He did teach me something about being a con artist, Ralph. I will go in all innocence and naiveté, and they will return my guardian to me. You’ll see.”

  He rose quickly. “You cannot go alone!”

  “I don’t intend to,” she assured him dryly. “We must head home first, and I must change. And you, too, must change.”

  “Me?”

  “Indeed!”

  “Change?”

  “Perception is everything, Ralph,” she told him sagely. He looked puzzled. “Never mind. Come along. I think we need to hurry.” She froze suddenly, turning back on him. “Ralph, no one knows, right? No one knows that the Earl of Carlyle has Tristan?”

  “No one but me. And you now, of course.”

  She felt a cold clutch of bony fingers encircling her heart, reaching into her throat. Good God, no matter what kind of a beast he was considered to be, the Earl of Carlyle couldn’t simply…murder a man.

  “Ralph, we must move, and quickly!” she said, catching his arm and dragging him along.

  “THE GENTLEMAN is resting nicely,” Evelyn Prior said, coming into the den. She fell into one of the huge upholstered wingback chairs that sat before the fire. Beside her, the master of the house had taken a position in the matching chair, brooding as he stared into the flames and scratched the huge head of his Irish wolfhound, Ajax.

  Brian Stirling, Earl of Carlyle, looked over at her, brows knitted, deep in thought. After a moment, he said, “How badly is he hurt?”

  “Oh, not badly, I dare say. The physician said that he was merely shaken and sore, and he didn’t believe the man had broken any bones, though he did acquire some bruising from climbing the walls, then falling. But I think he’ll be fine in a few days’ time.”

  “He will not be crawling about the house in the night?”

  Evelyn smiled. “Good heavens, no. Corwin is on guard in the hallway. And as you know, we keep the crypts locked tight. Only you and I have keys to the gates below. Even if he were to wander, there would be nothing he could find. And he won’t wander. Since he was in some pain, he has been given a good dose of laudanum.”

  “He won’t wander. Corwin will see to that,” Brian said with certainty. His staff at Carlyle Castle was small, far too small for the upkeep of such a property. Everyone here was not just in service, but considered a friend. And each man and woman was loyal to the core—far more than appearances would imply.

  “You are right, of course. Corwin will be entirely diligent,” Evelyn agreed.

  “What do you think possessed the man to do such a thing?” Brian asked. He turned his gaze from the flames to Evelyn once again. “The grounds themselves are so overgrown, a veritable jungle. It’s amazing he would risk a trek through them.”

  “And the estate was so beautifully kept when your parents were alive!” she murmured.

  “A year of English rain, my dear, can do wonders,” Brian said. “So we have a jungle and wildlife! What would make him risk it?”

  “The promise of great riches to be stolen,” she said.

  “You don’t believe that the man is working for someone, do you?” he asked sharply.

  She lifted her hands helplessly. “Honestly? No, I believe he came to steal something of value, and nothing more. Yet, is it possible that he’s working for someone, seeking to find out what you have and what you know? Yes, it’s possible.”

  “I’ll find out tomorrow,” Brian said. He knew the sound of his voice was chilling. He hadn’t meant for it to be so, but as far as Carlyle Castle and his current activities went, he did feel a certain ruthlessness. He was embittered, he admitted, feeling a strong right to be so. There was more than the problem of the past to be solved. There was the future.

  Evelyn looked at him anxiously, worried about his tone. “He has said that his name is Tristan Montgomery. And he swears that he was acting alone, though you already know that, since you were with Corwin and Shelby when he was found.”

  “Yes, I know. He also claimed to have merely ‘stumbled’ onto the castle grounds. How one stumbles over a nine-foot wall, I don’t know. Since he is claiming that he is innocent of any evil intent, he is naturally claiming innocence in any kind of a conspiracy. But we shall see. Shelby will go down to the city tomorrow and see what he can discover about the man. Naturally, he will remain our guest until his real intentions can be discovered.”

  “Should I ride down on a shopping excursion, as well?” Evelyn suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Brian mused. He sighed deeply. “And perhaps it’s time I began to accept a few of the invitations that have come my way.”

  Evelyn laughed. “Indeed, I’ve been telling you that you should. But think of the fear in the hearts of many a debutante’s mama!”

  “Yes, that’s a thought.”

  “It’s a pity you haven’t a fiancée or wife to stand charmingly by your side. Proof, of course, that there is no curse upon the house, and that you are not a beast, just a man, wounded by a great family tragedy.”

  “That’s true, as well,” he murmured, gazing at her as he considered her reply.

  “Oh, good heavens, don’t look at me!” Evelyn said with a laugh. “I’m way too old, Your Grace!”

  He had to grin at that. Evelyn was a beautiful woman. Her green eyes were filled with deep intelligence, and though nearing forty, she still possessed a face with such fine lines that she would be beautiful until the age of one hundred, should God grant such a life span.

  “Ah, Evelyn! You know my heart as no other woman could or ever will, and yet, you’re quite right.” His face hardened. “And if I were to know a proper young marital prospect, I’d not bring her in on this charade. God knows what danger she could face.”

  “Surely no one would drag an innocent into this tangled web of evil!” Evelyn murmured. “A lass could not be in danger.”

  “My mother is dead, is she not?” he inquired tightly.

  “Your dear mother was unusual, and that you must know. In her knowledge, in her pursuits, in her courage,” Evelyn said. “You will not find another woman like her.”

  “No,” Brian agreed. “And still, that the fiends should have slain a woman turns my heart to stone, though I agree that I would have pursued this with no less resolve had it been my father alone who was so cruelly killed.” He hesitated a moment. “Ah, Evelyn, I am not happy that you are involved.”

  Evelyn smiled. “I was involved before you were, actually,” she reminded him softly. “And I am more than willing to risk my life and all that I have. Still, I don’t believe that I’m in any danger. I haven’t the knowledge or the skill your mother possessed. And I don’t really believe that a young woman—a powder puff of a trophy on your arm—would actually be in danger, either. You are the one targeted, if there is to be any danger. Any enemy will know you will not let the dead lie buried until they do so in peace.”

  “I am the one cursed,” he reminded her.

  “And do you believe in curses?” she asked, somewhat amused.

  “It depends on how one sees a curse. Cursed? Yes. I live in hell. Can the curse be lifted? Certainly. But I must find the cure, in all that I do,” he said solemnly.

  Evelyn shook her head. “See? A lovely young woman, claiming to love you despite the hideousness of your face and all that has occurred in the past, does much to change the appearance of Carlyle—man and castle, if you will. Perhaps there is someone we could…hire.”

  “You’re serious!” he said.

  “I am. Honestly, what you need is someone quite beautiful at your side. Som
eone to accompany you into the rooms of society, someone to prove you human.”

  “And I’ve worked so hard to create my image of bountiful kindness already!” he said sardonically.

  “Yes, and that was necessary,” Evelyn agreed. “We’ve had no intruders at the castle—until now.”

  “None that we know about,” he said sharply.

  “Brian! It’s time for a change.”

  “I cannot change my course until I have come to the end.”

  “You may never come to an end.”

  “You’re wrong. I will.”

  She sighed. “Fine, then see it my way. Add a layer to your charade, Brian. You’ve done what can be done from the shadows, and you will continue to do so. But I really believe it’s time that you must reenter society. There is the invitation to the fund-raiser. You are certain we are dealing with members of scholarly organizations, and that is certainly a valid supposition. And who better than those who shared your parents’ love and fascination with the wonders of an ancient world? You’ve told me that you actually have your list of suspects narrowed down.”

  He rose restlessly, paced before the fire. Ajax, nervous, sensing his master’s mood, whined. Brian took a moment to reassure the dog. “It’s all right, boy,” he said, then gave his attention to Evelyn once again. “Yes, we are seeking someone with a deep knowledge of the field. That is a given. But we are also seeking someone capable of murder, the kind of cunning and malicious premeditation that killed my parents.”

  Evelyn was silent for a minute. Despite the year that had now gone by, it was impossible to remember how the late earl and his countess had died without feeling a terrible sense of pain and horror.

  Brian walked to the occasional table behind the chairs, poured a portion of brandy into a snifter, swallowed it down and then looked at Evelyn. “Forgive my manners,” he said. “My dear, would you like a brandy?”

  “Yes, actually,” she said, smiling. He poured some into her snifter first, then refilled his own.

  Lifting his glass to her, he said dryly, “To the night. To darkness and shadows.”

  “No, to the day and the light,” she said firmly.