by Scott, Tarah
I will be in London within the week and shall call upon you immediately.
Signed,
Marcus McGregor, Duke of Ashlund
The letter the duke sent to her uncle? What was Ty doing with it?
She refolded the note and slipped it into her pocket, then finished looking through the drawer. Next, she searched the armoire without success. The nightstand followed and her heart jumped into her throat when she opened the drawer and stared down at the Blunderbuss. This was the weapon he'd carried two nights ago when the highwaymen ambushed them. Phoebe hadn't forgotten the look on the first highwayman's face, and his intent to shoot Kiernan. Highwaymen were almost unheard of in their modern times, and murder without provocation by a highwayman didn't make sense. A great many things didn't make sense. Like why Ty killed Adam.
Tears rushed to the surface and Phoebe was forced to sit on the bed in order to slow the turn of her stomach that threatened to bring up her breakfast. She had to maintain control, had find something, anything, that gave her a clue as to why Ty had killed Adam. It made no sense. She started to close the drawer, then decided to take the pistol. Phoebe hid the Blunderbuss in her pocket with the letter, but was forced to maintain a grip on the heavy weapon. She left the room, carefully closed the door, then hurried down the hall toward the library.
"You're sure no one will come up here?" a muffled male voice asked.
Phoebe's attention jumped to her aunt's closed door up ahead.
"Yes," Lady Albery replied. "Mrs. Jenkins and Cook are napping, and I left strict orders not to be disturbed for the afternoon. The maids won't dare venture upstairs until I call for them."
"But you called for me," the man said.
"You know I can't go a day without you," she replied in a sultry voice.
Phoebe stifled a gasp. Her aunt had a lover?
"You like that?"
"Yes," she gasped with a breathless moan. "Don’t be gentle, Clive, fuck me hard."
Phoebe's stomach roiled.
"Happy to oblige," he said in a gritty voice.
Something in his voice gave her pause and she slowed. What was it?
Lady Albery cried out.
Phoebe stumbled, then caught herself. Dear God, she had to get away from there. She raced past her aunt's room, but couldn't drown out the sounds of the man's grunts and her aunt's moan. Phoebe reached the stairs and nearly tripped over her skirts on the first step. She yanked up her skirts and raced down the stairs. She reached the ground floor and left by the front door.
Once on the main street, she hailed a passing cab and collapsed onto the seat. "Oh, uncle," she sobbed, and couldn't halt the flood of tears.
When Phoebe arrived at the duke and duchess' home where she and Kiernan staying were staying, she'd composed herself enough so that the servants wouldn't be able to detect her anxiety. She needed time to think, to figure out what Ty was doing with the note from the duke, and how she was going to tell her uncle about his wife. Tears threatened again, but Phoebe forced them back as she nodded to the butler.
"I'll be in my room, Hinks. I'm not to be disturbed."
He gave an austere cant of his head and she took the stairs at a leisurely pace. When she reached her room, Phoebe sat on the bed and burst into tears again. She wasn't wholly surprised her aunt was unfaithful, but her uncle would be. How was she going to tell him? The door to the antechamber connecting her room to Kiernan's opened and he stood in the doorway. Phoebe drew a sharp breath.
"What's wrong?" He strode to the bed.
"N-nothing."
"Give me any trouble, Phoebe, and I'll turn you over my knee."
She blinked, then ire shot through her. "You've threatened that many a time, my lord. I don't believe you."
Kiernan stood quietly for a moment. "It sounds as if you would like a spanking."
"What I would like is to be left alone."
"What's wrong?" His attention dropped to the pocket with the Blunderbuss.
His brow furrowed, but she realized his intent too late. Kiernan seized her arm, yanked her to her feet, and pulled the pistol from the pocket. The note fluttered to the floor.
"What's this?" He shoved the pistol close to her face.
Something in his tone gave her pause, and she realized he'd read the magistrate's report on Adam's death. He thought the weapon was hers…that she'd killed Adam.
Kiernan released her and snatched up the letter. She stood frozen as he read it.
His gaze shifted to her face. "What are you doing with my father's letter? Damnation, Phoebe, I know this isn't your weapon. What have you done?"
She considered telling him to go to the devil, but realized she couldn't sacrifice Adam's justice—and her uncle's life—for her own anger. "It belongs to my cousin Ty. As you have clearly guessed, I read John Glen's report on Adam's bullet wounds. I recalled that Ty was carrying a Blunderbuss when he happened upon us on the road."
"And the letter?" Kiernan demanded.
"That, too, I found in Ty's room."
Kiernan's mouth thinned. "Ty's room? You were snooping in Arlington's room? You are not to go back there. No more playing spy."
"Playing spy? I am a spy."
"Not anymore."
"I warned you, sir, that marriage would not change me. I'll come and go as I please, continue on as I always have."
He gave her a critical look. "I see. So it is you whose life won't change, while you brought me to task for believing I wouldn't change with marriage."
"I never asked you to change, and I made it perfectly clear I wouldn't."
He stepped close, towering over her. "A wife who wishes to attend parties is one thing. A fiancée who is spying and doesn't tell her future husband is quite another."
"I never planned on marrying you," she replied.
He nodded. "So I gather."
"If you are dissatisfied with the union, have the marriage annulled."
Kiernan scowled. "I have no intention of letting you go."
"Why? I have been nothing but trouble for you."
He snorted. "No truer words have been spoken, but that doesn't mean I don't love you."
Her mouth parted in surprise.
He lifted a brow. "What have you to say to that, madam?"
Phoebe narrowed her eyes. "I think that you are once again trying to charm me."
A speculative glint appeared in his eyes. "I haven't charmed you in two days."
Her cheeks flushed hot with the memory of how she had charmed him in their carriage.
"I am going to keep a closer watch on you, wife. There will no sleeping in the lady's chamber tonight. I want you in my bed."
She stared. "You're insane."
"Be that as it may, I warn you, when I return home, should I find you in this bed instead of mine, I will remove you to my bed and tie you there. As you know, I'm quite capable of carrying out that threat. Though you haven't learned where that can lead." He turned and started for the anteroom.
"By heavens," she exclaimed. "I have no intention of sitting idly by while you—"
He whirled. "What?"
"Where are you going?" she demanded.
"I have a meeting." He lifted the note and shook it. "I suspect you now know who is responsible for the story in the Satirist."
With that he whirled and left.
Phoebe stared. She hadn't told him about Clive.
*****
Phoebe started awake when the clock in the library chimed. The book she'd been reading thunked as it struck the carpet and the second chime told her she'd slept for an hour. The fire had died to coal red embers and her blanket hung half off the couch where she lay. She considered putting another log on the fire, but pulled the blanket over her shoulders instead. Either Kiernan hadn't returned home, or he hadn't yet found her. The mansion was a labyrinth of rooms. He might have looked for her and given up. No, she decided. He hadn't exaggerated when he said he was a relentless hunter. He would search every nook and cranny of the mansion—then
make her pay for the effort.
She wasn't strictly disobeying him—the idea she had to obey rankled beyond reason—after all, she hadn't gone to sleep in her bed. She had decided to tell him that she'd waited up in order to tell him about Clive…and that she remembered what it was that caught her attention when she'd heard his voice. Her aunt's lover was the highwayman who escaped.
The door opened with a quiet click. Phoebe froze, Kiernan's words rolling around in her head "…you will pay the piper. That is me, madam, in case you think otherwise."
By heavens, she was actually trembling. Phoebe inched her head up until she could peek over the top of the couch. Her heart jumped into her throat. The man sitting at the duke's desk wasn't Kiernan.
*****
"He was last seen at the Davenport soirée?" Kiernan asked of Mather as they descended the steps of his club.
"That was the report an hour ago, sir."
"So he is ensuring that witnesses can testify to his whereabouts. Good. And you're sure he knows I was contacted by someone anxious to sell me information about a man who hired him to kill me while in Scotland?"
"Mr. Sykes is known for not keeping a secret. I feel certain he has told Baron Arlington's valet the story."
They reached Kiernan's coach. "Here is where we part ways, Mather."
"I must protest once again, sir. I feel certain your father wouldn't approve of this plan."
Kiernan swung open the carriage door. "No, he wouldn't. In you go."
"I really should go with you."
"We've discussed this," Kiernan said. "I'm an easier target alone. Besides, I have half a dozen officers from the Metropolitan Police on the case."
"A bullet or a knife can find its mark before they police reach you."
"One way or another, Arlington intends to kill me. Then he will force Phoebe to marry him. I can't allow either."
"Your father is sure to send me packing once he learns I not only didn't stop you, but I aided you," he grumbled.
"We won't tell him." Mather still hesitated, and Kiernan laid a hand on his back. "Go on, my friend."
He sighed, but stepped into the carriage. Kiernan closed the door and started down the sidewalk. Ten minutes later, he turned into the nearest gaming hell.
An hour and several whiskies later, Kiernan left the club five hundred pounds poorer than when he entered. The big man sitting in the corner quietly drinking had cast him enough covert glances that Kiernan knew him to be his would-be killer. Kiernan couldn't help a grimace. Phoebe's cousin wasn't taking any chances. He'd hired a man a head taller than Kiernan.
Kiernan began an unsteady walk down the sidewalk. The pad of footsteps followed a moment later, and he was impressed that the big man could tread so lightly. This brigand might be a more practiced killer than Arlington's previous employees. A hansom cab passed. Kiernan flicked the passenger a glance and rubbed his chin as if scratching an itch. The man didn't twitch a muscle, but Kiernan knew he'd seen the signal. Kiernan made a sudden left into one of the appointed alleys. As expected, the footsteps quickened.
Up ahead, yellow lamplight spilled across the cobblestone from around a sharp turn. His assailant would want to catch him before he reached the light. The footsteps grew louder and Kiernan yanked free the pistol stuffed into his waistband, and turned. The man stopped ten feet away. Kiernan glimpsed a glint of metal an instant before the man drew back his hand, knife poised to throw.
Another man stepped into view behind Kiernan's assailant in the instant before Kiernan fired. The killer jerked to the left and hit the wall. Kiernan's mind registered the knife flying through the air toward him and he dove to the right. A shadow fell across his path and another shot blasted. The ping of metal striking metal whizzed an inch past his ear. He hit the ground and rolled. Boots pounded on cobblestone as he shoved to his feet. Two Metropolitan Police officers were yanking the man to his feet. Kiernan turned as two more officers rushed around the bend where Mather stood, his revolver pointed heavenward.
Kiernan scanned the cobblestones and spied the knife a few feet away. He took two steps, scooped up the weapon, and strode to Mather. Kiernan held the knife to the light. A small chip was visible in the hilt.
He looked at Mather. "You always were a good shot."
"A necessity, sir," he replied, and Kiernan knew he meant, you really are a pain in the arse.
*****
Phoebe ducked her head down behind the couch. Her heart thundered. What was Ty doing here? What should she do? She had no weapon, hadn't thought she needed one. If she remained quiet, he might not discover her. Once he left the room, she could alert someone to his presence.
She willed her heart to stop its panicked rhythm and worked to slow her breathing. Ty would be rifling through the duke's desk for one reason only: he believed the duke knew something—no, not the duke, she realized. Kiernan. But what? Her confrontation with Kiernan a few hours ago slammed into her memory. He had taken the Blunderbuss and his father's letter. Surely those items weren't what Ty was looking for. They weren’t incriminating enough for him to risk sneaking into the duke's home, and he couldn't know that she had taken them.
Her cousin had been acting strange of late. She'd seen no dark mood from him as she usually did when he gambled. He'd been more responsible, even concerned for her marriage, her inheritance. "Ashlund is filthy rich," Ty had said. "How could he possibly need your paltry fifteen thousand pound yearly income?"
The memory made her realize that Ty never courted any of the ladies who could bring to him the modest inheritance a baron might expect. Surely, he must want a woman who could bring something to the marriage. Perhaps even a fifteen thousand pound yearly income? Her stomach clenched. It was too coincidental that her aunt's lover Clive was the highwayman who escaped, and Ty had miraculously arrived in time to save them from the brigand. Dear God, they had to be in league together. But that didn't explain why he'd killed Adam.
A shadow fell across her, and Ty came into view standing behind the couch. She gave a cry.
He placed his palms on the top of the couch and leaned forward. "Enjoying spying on me, Cousin?"
Her mind jumped to a dozen different answers before she recalled they were in the duke's home and they both knew he had no reason to be there.
Phoebe shoved off the couch as Ty grabbed for her. She thudded onto the carpet, then seized the bottom of the couch and heaved with all her might. He slammed onto the carpet, the couch on top of him. Phoebe sprang to her feet and lunged past him for the door, but iron fingers seized her ankle. She crashed to the carpet, kicking. The heel of her free foot landed a blow to his jaw before he grabbed the foot. She screamed. Ty was on her in an instant. His hand clamped over her mouth, pinning her to the floor. The pistol in his waistband dug into her hip.
"Where is it?" he hissed.
She shook her head to say she didn’t understand.
"Don't toy with me, Phoebe. I want that letter."
She grabbed the wrist of the hand over her mouth.
"Stop it or I'll kill you right here," he snarled.
She stilled.
"Now, I'm going to remove my hand," he said. "Scream and I'll knock you from here to hell and back. Understand?"
She nodded.
Tentatively, his hold loosened. Phoebe made no move to scream and he lifted his hand from her mouth.
"You fool," she said. "My husband will return any moment and when he does—"
"The letter," he hissed.
Her heart pounded. Ty showed no fear that Kiernan might arrive. Terror twisted through her. She recalled the highwayman who, without provocation, intended to shoot Kiernan. Her chest constricted. Ty had sent them—paid them—to kill her husband. And she didn't have to wonder why. If Kiernan died, she would be a very rich woman. Her fifteen thousand pound yearly income would, then indeed, be paltry. But that didn't explain Adam.
"Why?" she demanded.
His face contorted in fury. "He intended to force to go to Gretna Green wit
h him."
Phoebe closed her eyes. Ty had known exactly who the why referred to. She opened her eyes. "You miscalculated."
"I won't make that mistake again."
She started to tell him there wouldn't be a next time, but he cut her off.
"Where's the letter Phoebe? Tell me or I kill you, then your husband."
Panic ripped through her. She forced all thought from her mind—except one. "What letter?"
"The letter your husband received from the man in Scotland."
She had no idea what he was talking about, but said, "Kiernan keeps all personal papers in his bedchambers."
Ty shoved to his feet, dragging her with him. He drew the pistol from his waistband. "One peep and I'll blow your brains out."
She nodded.
"Which floor?" he demanded.
"Third floor, west wing."
"Any servants about?"
She shook her head. "The duke and duchess don't allow them to work into the night."
"How magnanimous of them," he said, and prodded her toward the door.
The turn of the doorknob stopped them short.
Ty cursed. Phoebe rammed her elbow into his ribs and wrenched free of his grip as she dove right. He swung his pistol toward her and she rolled. A shot resounded and she jumped before realizing that Ty hadn't fired. Her vision snapped into focus onto Kiernan, who strode across the room, still gripping the pistol he'd fired.
Ty scrambled to his feet. Blood stained the left side of his shirt over his ribs. Mather appeared in the doorway, a revolver in hand, but Kiernan reached Ty. Kiernan threw aside his gun and drove a heavy blow into Ty's belly. Ty dropped to his knees. Kiernan seized his lapel and lifted. Her cousin rammed his head into Kiernan's gut and drove him backwards until they crashed into a chair.
Phoebe jumped to her feet. "Mather! Do something."
Mather looked at her, brow raised.
