by Laura Landon
by Laura Landon
Prologue
French Prison
Captain Austin Landwell tried to swipe the blood from his eyes, but he was too weak to lift the chain that held his hand to the cell wall. The beating he’d taken this time was worse than the last. The French officer’s desperation to identify the secret agent, Thorn, was obvious. It was Austin’s rotten luck he’d been captured before he could destroy the note from Thorn.
Worse rotten luck that agent Thorn was one of the twenty-six British soldiers and citizens arrested with him. At least no one knew the secret agent’s identity—yet.
He heard footsteps and took in a deep breath. This was it, then. He wouldn’t survive another beating.
He experienced a sense of relief. At least he wouldn’t die having betrayed his country. Or Thorn. He couldn’t live with himself if he did.
The cell door opened and Captain DuBois strutted in. Two French soldiers followed. Austin lowered his head and stared at their scuffed boots. A soft moan made him look up.
He focused on the man draped between the soldiers.
Recognition dawned, but Austin shifted his gaze before the captain saw even a hint of alarm in his eyes. Such weakness was a death sentence for both him and the young British soldier they brought with them.
Captain DuBois sauntered into the cell and pulled Austin’s hair to force his head up. “Good morning, Captain Landwell. I hope you had a restful night. I brought company with me this morning.” He stepped to the side so Austin had a clear view. “You know Lieutenant Dunstan, do you not?”
The captain forced Austin to look at the young lieutenant. Of course he knew him. Dunstan had served under him on several missions. An excellent soldier. The Earl of Penderly’s youngest son. Too young to be in this hellhole.
“We have inquired of the lieutenant, but, just as you, he claims he does not know the identity of the infamous Thorn. I find I believe him.”
Austin feigned boredom even though deep in his gut he knew bringing Dunstan here wasn’t a good sign.
“Unfortunately, Captain, you have not been quite so convincing. My hope is that perhaps Lieutenant Dunstan might be able to convince you to cooperate.”
“Don’t tell them anything, Captain. I’m not afrai—”
Before Dunstan could finish, DuBois backhanded him with the butt of his pistol. Austin lurched as far as the chains that held him to the wall would allow, but couldn’t reach the bastard. He’d squeeze the life from the Frenchman if he could.
“See what happens when you refuse to cooperate, Captain Landwell? You cause undue suffering to those around you.”
“Don’t…Captain. Don’t tell them…any—”
“Silence, Lieutenant,” Austin ordered. A wave of panic slammed against Austin’s middle. Defying the French officer would only worsen their situation. “You’re wasting your time, DuBois. He doesn’t know anything.”
DuBois pushed the barrel of his gun beneath Austin’s chin. “But you do, don’t you?”
He shoved the barrel upward hard enough that Austin’s head slammed against the wall. His vision blurred and he blinked several times to clear it.
“You know this day is going to turn out very badly if you do not tell us what we want to know. Is true?”
Austin turned away, but before he could take any satisfaction in his show of dismissal, the captain’s fist connected with his jaw. His vision doubled and blood streamed from his mouth.
“Which prisoner is the agent Thorn, Captain?”
Austin tried not to think how much easier it would be if he gave the Frenchman the information he wanted. He tried to convince himself he could live with himself if he did. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The French captain grabbed the material at Austin’s throat and shoved him hard against the wall. “I shall advise you not to play this game with me. I tire of it.”
Austin remained silent and waited for the next blow. It came before he was prepared for it.
The French captain punched his fist into Austin’s gut hard enough to knock the air out of him. He struggled to catch his breath, but the pain made breathing impossible. When he recovered, he turned a hateful glare on DuBois—and spit in his face.
Austin knew his action wouldn’t go unpunished, but he needed to keep the officer’s fury focused on him. Not on Lieutenant Dunstan. The boy wasn’t responsible for any of this. He had no idea who Thorn was. Yet DuBois intended to use him to force Austin into betraying the agent.
There was only one choice left him.
A calming sense of resolve blanketed him. One of the older soldiers had once told him that there were worse things in life than death. During the war, when he’d fought so hard to stay alive, he couldn’t imagine any truth to the saying. Now, he knew what the old soldier had meant. He wouldn’t betray his country, nor could he betray the agent who’d masterminded the missions on which he’d been sent—missions that had brought about a quicker end to the war. And he wouldn’t let Dunstan die for something that wasn’t his doing.
“You are running out of time, Captain. The name of the agent. Now.”
Austin shifted his gaze and studied the sadistic grin on the French captain’s face. He had to do everything in his power to save Dunstan, had to be the one to die. Not the boy.
Austin let his gaze drop from the captain’s face and rest on the young soldier’s fresh-faced innocence. “Let Lieutenant Dunstan leave and we’ll talk.”
“I think not, Captain Landwell. The lieutenant can leave when I have a name.”
Austin shrugged. “Very well. If a name is what you want, a name you will have. It’s…Beau.”
“Beau? We have no prisoner named Beau.”
“You said a name. I gave you one.”
“Who is this Beau?”
“His full name is Beau Brummel. He’s a very important person in England.”
“What role does he play?”
“Oh, several. He’s a man of many disguises. Most often, though, he dresses in the latest fashion and struts through London like a self-important popinjay. Actually, he reminds me a great deal of…you.”
Before Austin could prepare himself for what he knew would happen, DuBois slammed the butt of his pistol against Austin’s jaw. Pain exploded inside his head and blood streamed down the side of his face. He prayed for death to release him from this nightmare, but it didn’t. Instead, the French captain walked the few feet to where Dunstan stood and pulled him from the two soldiers’ grasp. He shoved the barrel of his pistol against Dunstan’s temple and pushed him toward Austin.
“The identity of the agent Thorn or your brave Lieutenant dies.”
Austin searched for a way to change the course this interrogation was taking, but didn’t know what that was. “How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t know a Thorn?”
The captain swung his arm and brought the butt of his pistol down. It connected with Dunstan’s cheek just below his eye.
Blood spurted from the gash then ran down the soldier’s face.
“I will give you another chance to answer me, Captain. Which prisoner is the agent called Thorn?”
Austin filled his gaze with all the hatred he felt for the French officer and glared at him. “Go to hell,” he said, using his words and the tone of his voice to emphasize his loathing.
DuBois clenched his teeth and took another menacing step toward Austin, letting Dunstan sag to the floor. “I will give you one last chance to save your fellow officer,” he said.
Austin’s heart thundered in his breast. He suffered a fear unlike any he’d ever endured. God help him. He couldn’t do this.
“Who is Thorn?”
Austin
glared at the French officer with a burning hatred. But said nothing.
DuBois motioned for the soldiers to drag Dunstan nearer. When he was close enough Austin could reach out and touch him, DuBois lifted Austin’s chained arm from the wall. He held the pistol to Dunstan’s temple, then pulled Austin’s hand toward him and wrapped Austin’s fingers around the gun.
Austin fought to free his hand, but DuBois was strong, and the two burly guards held Dunstan fast against the barrel of the pistol. DuBois pressed Austin’s forefinger against the trigger and held it in place.
No!
The cries of a horde of demons screamed inside his head. His heart skipped one beat, then another, then dropped into Hell itself. He opened his mouth to scream but his throat closed on him and nothing came out except a low pathetic moan.
“The name, Captain!”
Huge drops of sweat poured in rivers down his face, burning his eyes, mixing with the tears he couldn’t stop.
He looked into Dunstan’s eyes and hoped the soldier would understand, prayed his family could forgive him.
The French captain’s finger squeezed his finger against the trigger.
“The name!”
“It’s me! I am Thorn!”
“I think not, Captain.”
Austin felt the pressure of DuBois’ finger atop his. He turned his head as the gun’s loud explosion echoed in the prison cell.
He’d closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see Dunstan’s head blown apart. But he knew that wouldn’t help.
The soldier’s innocent young face was indelibly etched into his memory and would haunt him forever.
Chapter 1
London, 1858
Sweat poured down Austin’s face as he raced down the footpath that angled through London’s St. James Park. Nearly a year had passed since his brother-in-law, Gabriel Talbot, had rescued him from that hellhole of a prison in France, but the nightmares still haunted him. And they didn’t come any less often. When the terrors woke him, running was his only escape. And sometimes, even that wasn’t enough.
There were times he wasn’t sure he could live with what had happened that day. Times when his own death would be a relief. At least he wouldn’t have to live with young Dunstan’s face haunting his dreams.
His fingers skimmed over the pistol in his jacket pocket and he envisioned gripping it in his hand, pointing it to his temple, pulling the trigger.
He made an inhuman sound that echoed in the predawn silence and he ran faster.
He sped across the paved paths until the ache in his side wouldn’t let him run any longer, then bent at the waist and braced his hands on his thighs. When he looked up, the sky had turned a softer shade of darkness.
It would be sunrise soon.
He welcomed the light, especially the faint pinks and lavenders that heralded a new day. Each sunrise meant he’d survived another twenty-four hours.
He straightened, then started running again. He took the path closest to the lake, then headed toward the west exit. He had an office a short distance from the Metropolitan Police Department, with a room where he could wash and change clothes before his secretary, Giles, arrived.
His latest case was nearly complete. All that remained was submitting his report to the inspector. Maybe, when he finished, he’d go to the country for a week or two to visit his sister Lydia. Gabe had insisted they take little Rachel to Southerby Manor because he didn’t think the summer air in London was fit for a three-month-old baby.
It would be good to get away for a while. The last four cases he’d investigated for the Metropolitan Police had been unusually gruesome. His training as a special agent during the Crimean War gave him the experience he needed to piece together the clues, but there were times he felt suffocated by the endless hours he spent wallowing among the dregs of humanity. Times when, to keep his sanity, he had to escape the filth of London’s lowlifes and murderers, and mingle with people who were wholesome and good. He needed that desperately right now. Needed to spend time with his family and for a while, pretend that he belonged among people who were decent. That was the life he’d always thought he’d have.
Until the French had captured him.
Until…
Young Dunstan’s face flashed in front of him and he continued to run down St. Martin’s Lane to Long Acre, then to his office at 16 Charles Street. He turned the key in the lock and stepped inside. He slammed the door behind him, pretending the thick wood could protect him from the demons.
When he was alone in the silence, he pressed his back against the closed door and took in several deep breaths. He was safe now. Dunstan’s failed look of bravery was locked on the other side of the door where the terror in his expression would fade in the sunlight.
For a few more seconds, Austin remained where he was, then he pushed away from the door and walked to the small back room.
A single cot rested in one corner for when his work wouldn’t allow him to go home. A comfortably padded chair nestled nearby. Several sets of clean clothes hung in a narrow armoire against the wall in the far corner. He had everything he needed for the long nights when he couldn’t sleep.
He felt safe here. This place, this room was his refuge. It was the one place where he felt he belonged, where he could immerse himself in his dealings with the lowlifes of London and forget that he would never fit in with anyone who was good.
He poured water in a basin and washed. When he finished, he donned fresh clothing, then put on his jacket. He was fastening the last button when there was a knock on the outer door and it opened.
Austin walked to his office and let his gaze evaluate the tall, imposing man standing in the doorway.
“Captain Landwell?”
Recognition wasn’t immediate, but when Austin realized who had come to see him, his heart lurched in his chest. A year of guilt surged to the forefront. “Lord Penderly.” Austin pointed to the wooden chair in front of his desk. “Please, come in. Sit down.”
The Earl of Penderly closed the door behind him and walked across the room. He carried himself with an air of authority that Austin recognized. He’d seen it often in members of the nobility. Saw it in the way his brother, Harrison, Earl of Etherington, carried himself.
Penderly stopped before Austin’s desk and faced him. “I wasn’t sure if I’d find you here at this hour.”
“In my line of work it’s impossible to keep regular hours.” He waited until Penderly sat, then took the chair behind his desk. “It also allows certain…visitors…to pay calls without being noticed.”
“Of course.”
Austin took in the earl’s expert tailoring—his black pants and jacket, his pristine white shirt, and not one, but two black arm bands around his upper arm. One for the death of the young officer for which Austin was responsible, and one for the death of Penderly’s oldest son, who had recently died in a riding accident. The sign of mourning on Penderly’s jacket caused Austin to look closer into the earl’s face.
Penderly’s attire was impeccable, his silver hair neatly groomed. His features indicated the handsome man he’d been in his youth—still was. Only the shadowed look in his eyes gave evidence of the tragedy life had placed in his path. Tragedy for which Austin was largely to blame.
“Allow me to offer my condolences on the death of your son, my lord.”
Penderly nodded. “I’ve lost them both, now.”
Austin couldn’t do more than nod.
“I know you knew my younger son. I appreciate the kindnesses you extended when you returned from France. My wife and I were consoled by your visit and the knowledge that Jarrod didn’t die alone. We were greatly comforted to know you were with him.”
Austin’s blood turned to ice and he clamped his hands around the arms of the chair to keep them from trembling.
“I’m not sure, though, if you knew my elder son and heir, Gregory?”
“Yes, I did. He was a few years my senior, but I’d met him several times about town. He was the same age
as my brother, Harrison, Earl of Etherington.”
“Yes, I’d forgotten.”
Penderly’s expression took on a pained look. “I loved him. Unfortunately, he died thinking I did not.”
The earl rose and turned away from Austin. The man obviously needed to compose himself first. After several moments, he turned back.
“I don’t know if you are aware of what went on between the two of us that caused our separation.”
Austin had heard the rumors, but he’d learned early on in his detective career to let his clients put events in their own words. He waited for the earl to continue.
“Gregory would have inherited the title. He’d been raised to follow in my footsteps. I didn’t question his abilities—ever. I was very proud of him. Then…”
The earl’s shoulders slumped as if he carried the weight of the world. As well as the guilt of his firstborn son’s death.
“He fell in love.” He lifted his gaze and looked at Austin. “Did you ever meet her?”
Austin knew who he meant. He was referring to the actress with whom Penderly’s son had fallen in love and eloped. “No, I never did.”
“Her name was Collette Flemming.”
The earl stepped to the multi-paned window in the front of Austin’s office and looked out. There was nothing there except a narrow street and an occasional hack that traveled by.
He turned. “I reacted badly. But after I lost Jarrod, Gregory was all I had left. He was the future of the Penderly line. I couldn’t think past the disgrace that bringing an actress into our family would cause. He would never have been accepted by Society, his wife would never have been accepted. They would have been ostracized, shunned. It was…too much for me to accept.”
Penderly stiffened. “I said some cruel things to Gregory. But I couldn’t think past the disgrace I would suffer if my son married an actress.”
Penderly’s body seemed to collapse in on him. He returned to his chair and sat. He suddenly seemed years older than he had when he’d entered a few moments earlier.
