He glanced again at the address on the page. He was in the right place. Rage seethed inside him at the thought of Monsieur V lazing inside. He should break down the door and wring the fiend’s neck. The hot, potent need for revenge threatened to choke out all reason. He clenched his fists. The muscles in his arms, back, and shoulders hardened like rocks.
The last time he had rushed in without thinking, he had aimed for the wrong man. This time, he had to be certain the man he shot was Monsieur V. He had to be certain that he was in there. Somehow, Alex wrestled down his thirst for revenge and bided his time.
Eventually, just as the sun was starting to sink below the horizon and painted the gray clouds with shades of gold, a figure slouched through the street. It paused in front of the door to the non-descript house. The figure, a man judging by the greatcoat he appeared to be swimming in, glanced over his shoulder. Alex froze.
This street didn’t afford many places to remain unseen. Alex had chosen a place where no one wanted to look, but the fact that the residents seemed determined to mind their own business had worked in his favor thus far. It was dark, the shadows having lengthened steadily, and he hoped they concealed his position. He held his breath and remained utterly still.
The figure entered the building and shut the door. Alex released his breath. Relief gushed through him as he inhaled again. He hadn’t been seen.
Someone is inside. That someone had been, at his estimate, a man of roughly six feet tall with a build that might have been athletic or lean. At the very least, he hadn’t appeared to carry much extra weight.
Monsieur V. It must be. The haze of rage overcame Alex once more and he gritted his teeth. He unwrapped a biscuit from a handkerchief and bit into it. Although he’d scarcely eaten all day, not wanting to leave his post, he found he had no appetite.
The sun disappeared beneath the horizon and what little daylight had peeked between the clouds faded away into shadow. A light winked to life in the house. Alex followed it with his eyes, training his focus on the shadowy figure it produced.
He didn’t have backup. One of the first things Morgan had drummed into him during training was always to let someone else—a superior—know where he would be, and always to bring a second pair of eyes in case something went wrong. This time, Alex didn’t even have Lucy to act as that second pair of eyes. She would only try to stop him, in any case.
If he had no one to rely on but himself, he had to do this right. He had two pistols with him, both loaded and ready. Nonetheless, he wanted to be certain that there was only one person in the house. He didn’t know where Lucy had come by her clue; this might very well be an ambush. If so, Alex hoped that his vigilance would help him to slip around it. He’d been gnashing his teeth most of the day while conducting his surveillance. Despite his impatience and frustration, he forced himself to wait.
He watched the house, the light disappearing in one room to reappear in another. An hour passed, maybe more. Eventually, when the chill of evening started to bite into Alex’s bones, he decided that Monsieur V was alone in the house.
Earlier in the day, he had examined the house from all angles, noting all possible entrances and exits. He didn’t use the door, but slipped around to the back. He inserted a thin knife between the shutters and used the leverage to unhook them. Quietly, he pulled inside the darkened room and closed the shutters again.
He stepped slowly and silently, his heart thundering louder than his footsteps. A slight shuffle and the occasional squeak of a board indicated movement upstairs. Alex waited with bated breath for the movement to settle. Only then did he slip into the corridor.
For all his surveillance of the outside of the house, he hadn’t had any means of mapping the interior. His ears strained for further sounds of movement and his heart in his throat, he searched for the staircase. When he found it, he pulled one of the pistols from his pocket and held it ready as he carefully mounted the stairs, testing each one to avoid any squeaks before he ascended. Near halfway up the staircase, he feared that his head might be seen if he continued at that slow pace. Not wanting to make himself a target, he abandoned the pretense, hugged the wall, and bolted up the last few steps on his tiptoes. On the landing, he slowly aimed his weapon at each of the doors along the corridor, waiting for a figure to enter one. None did.
The light spilled from the door on the far left. Keeping his back to the wall, he snuck down its length to the door, left ajar. The light flickered within, a candle no doubt. He took a deep breath to steady himself and aimed his weapon in front of him.
He burst into the room, pivoting to find the figure. The room contained an old bed, a round table with the candle set upon it, and a tattered, stuffed armchair. It was…empty?
He stared a second too long. A man jumped out from the shadows behind the door. Alex spun, but the man knocked the gun from his hand. It clattered somewhere near the bed. He tensed, waiting for a misfire from the sensitive weapon. It didn’t go off, a relief.
He had little time to process the stroke of luck because the man was upon him. Alex fought back, using the dirty tricks he’d been taught in training. Your gun…get your other gun. His hands were too busy fending off a series of blows. The man, a steely-eyed villain of about Alex’s height and build, must be Monsieur V. Alex was looking into the eyes of the man who had killed his family.
Rage overtook him. He fought, wild and panicked, trying to end the monster’s life however he could. His hand slipped from around the man’s neck as Monsieur V jabbed his elbow into Alex’s sternum. Sputtering for breath, he stumbled back.
His gun. He started to reach for it just as the traitor pulled a pistol of his own. If Alex dipped his hand into his pocket, he would be dead. He almost did it anyway.
Instead, he thought of Lucy and raised his hands in surrender. If he died, he would never see her again. If he died, Monsieur V would walk free.
Both those things were unforgivable.
With a smile to match his cold eyes, Monsieur V lowered himself into the chair next to the candle. Alex was caught.
23
Despite leaving Lady Leighton’s manor the morning after Alex departed, Lucy found herself unable to slip away from her chaperone’s watchful eye until the day after they arrived in London. Mrs. Vale watched Lucy as though she were a criminal, and Lucy’s pet parrot seemed to have taken up the cause. Every time Lucy tried to sneak out of a room where Antonia resided, her pet bird shrieked, insulted her, and flapped across the room to join her. She couldn’t even hope to approach the front door without someone in the townhouse being alerted to the fact that she intended to go out. Mrs. Vale let her go nowhere alone, not even on a walk around the block.
Lucy chafed beneath the constant supervision. Charlie must have confessed to her mother of Lucy’s feelings for Alex. Neither of the Vales approved the match…not that Lucy could consider it a match, precisely. After all, he had chosen his revenge over her. Her only hope was that he had decided to take his time to properly assess the situation, or even reach out to her brother for backup as he had pestered her to do so many times. It was a faint hope, but she clung to it.
The sun peeked out from a sky dotted with grayish clouds when she finally managed to slip away from her testy bird and Mrs. Vale. Wearing her plainest coat, Lucy walked from the Tenwick townhouse to a busier street and hired a hack to take her to the address she had memorized. When the driver clattered away, Lucy shaded her eyes and studied the building.
She would never live there voluntarily. The roof seemed patched, the paint peeled from the doors and shutters, and the only form of greenery were the thin scrubs of weeds clumping around the foundation. Like the rest of the street, the house seemed almost ghostly in its silence.
Cautious but curious, Lucy circled the house. She pressed her face against the shutters, trying to squint through the cracks into the room beyond in order to discern whether anyone was inside. She found no signs of movement, but she was only marginally successful in her spying. By t
he time she returned to the front, the street was deserted. If Alex laid in wait nearby, he was well hidden. She raised her fist as if to knock on the door, baiting him. Since he’d been so adamant over her safety, he would stop her.
He didn’t. Perhaps he called her bluff. She dropped her hand. What would she say, in any case? Bonjour, Monsieur V. You seem adamant to speak with me, so here I am. The notion was ludicrous.
Besides, as far as she could tell, no one was inside. Out of curiosity, she tried the latch. To her surprise, it was unlocked. She glanced over her shoulder, checking once more that the street was clear. Then she slipped inside.
The house seemed empty. To be safe, she tiptoed through the lower floor first, then the upper floor, peeking into every room and closet to assure herself that no one was lying in wait. It was as dead within as it seemed from outside. Hoping that the occupant wouldn’t return soon, she searched the lower floor thoroughly. If Monsieur V had sent a package here, then the resident must be important to him. Perhaps they knew each other personally, or the resident was a part of the French spy network as well. Lucy found nothing that might identify the occupant of the house—in fact, she didn’t find a single personal article below stairs that might indicate whether the resident was male or female. She moved upstairs, searching every room on the second floor until she came to the last on the left.
Here she found the only personal article in the house. On a round table in the bedroom rested a signet ring. When Lucy picked it up to examine the crest, her heart skipped a beat. That was the Brackley seal.
Her head spun. She dropped into the chair and lowered her head between her knees as she forced herself to think. Her ears rang. Tears pricked her eyes as she realized what must have happened. Alex had been here, after all. He’d been captured—or killed.
Worry made her heartbeat flutter and her stomach tie itself in knots. She had to know for certain. Perhaps he’d been here, but left his signet ring in haste. She had to find him, one way or another.
Lucy squared her shoulders and rapped on the front door to the Brackley townhouse. When you’re seen, this will reflect poorly on your reputation. She was without chaperone, trying to gain entrance to a bachelor’s house. However, at the moment, she didn’t give a whit for her reputation. If Alex was in there, she was going to slap him for making her worry.
If Alex was inside.
The door opened to reveal an aged butler who had likely been in service as long as the family had been alive. He stared down his long nose at her. “And who might you be?”
He must be blind as a bat not to recognize her for a Graylocke. She fished her calling card out of her reticule and handed it to him, for all the good it would do. “Lady Lucy Graylocke. I’m here to see Lord Brackley. Is he in?” She clasped her hands in front of her to hide the tremor that plagued her while she awaited the answer.
The butler took the card with a raised eyebrow. He tucked it away without looking at it. “I’m afraid Lord Brackley is not at home.”
Her lungs seized. She couldn’t breathe.
Be calm. He might only be at the club.
She forced a deep breath and kept her tone even as she asked, “And when do you expect him to be back?”
“You mistake me, my lady. I don’t expect him back. Lord Brackley is not in London.”
Her stomach sank. “You’re certain?”
“Quite. He’s at a house party in the country.”
Lucy shook her head. “Lady Leighton’s house party, you mean? That ended two days ago.”
The butler frowned. “Perhaps he’s on his way to his country estate then, and will arrive when he gets there. He never came here.”
Alex’s signet ring felt heavy in her pocket. Alex had ventured to London but never made it to his townhouse? Now she was even more worried.
“If he returns home, please have him call on me. Thank you.”
Without another word, Lucy turned on her heel and stumbled blindly to the street. She blinked away the tears that stung her eyes as she searched for another hackney to hire to bring her home. By the time she reached the corner of the street, she decided that the exercise would do her good. She didn’t care a whit who saw her walking home. The exercise helped to burn away some of the helplessness that plagued her.
By the time she arrived back at the Tenwick townhouse, she had come to an important decision. Perhaps one that she should have arrived at a long time ago. She had postponed the inevitable too long.
As she opened the door, Antonia squawked from inside the house and both Vale women trotted into the corridor.
“Lucy,” Mrs. Vale chided. “We’ve been looking for you all over. Where have to been?”
“Are you all right?” Charlie added. Her mouth turned mulish. “This is about Brackley, isn’t it?”
Lucy steeled her spine. She resisted the urge to pat her eyes to ensure that they weren’t puffy from withheld tears. Ignoring both their questions, she said, “Pack your bags, ladies. I think it’s past time we returned to Tenwick Abbey.”
It was time to tell her brothers the truth.
“This isn’t the road to Tenwick Abbey,” Charlie said as the carriage turned away from the main road. In order to reach Lucy’s ancestral estate, they would have to drive another six hours before taking a different road.
Lucy stroked Antonia as her pet fluffed up her feathers. That bird had an uncanny ability to sense when Lucy was uneasy. She took a deep voice before she answered calmly.
“No, it is not, but I don’t think it will put us much out of our way. A half a day, at most. I want to check on something.”
“Check on what? Where are we going?”
Mrs. Vale pursed her lips but didn’t say a word. She merely observed. Her disapproval hung heavy in the air, as if she knew what Lucy was going to say.
“We’re going to Lord Brackley’s estate. It won’t take long, I promise.”
A bit over two hours later, the carriage pulled onto a thin ribbon of a drive. It wove between copses of trees, ringing the bottom of a range of hills, until finally the lofty manor could be seen. It was atop one such hill, a magnificent residence that looked as though it had been built onto the remnants of a medieval fortress. The afternoon sun set an orange glow over the scenery.
As the carriage pulled to a stop, Lucy bid her companions, “Wait here. This won’t take a moment.” She shoved her parrot into Charlie’s arms and hopped from the carriage before the women protested. Straightening her shoulders, Lucy approached the mahogany double doors of the manor.
They opened at her approach. Clearly, someone in the manor had noticed her arrival.
The housekeeper, a curvaceous middle-aged woman with thin lips and narrowed eyes, met her at the door. “May we help you, my lady?”
At least they recognized her for a peer. That was likely due to the fact that she rode in the official Tenwick carriage today, with the ducal seal on the door. Her posture regal, Lucy said, “I’m here to see Lord Brackley. You may tell him Lady Lucy Graylocke has arrived.”
The housekeeper’s frown deepened. “I’m afraid you were given poor information, my lady. Lord Brackley is not in residence. Last we were told, he wasn’t planning to come to the country until August.”
Somehow, Lucy managed to keep her ducal mien in place long enough to thank the woman and turn around. As she neared the carriage, the reality set in and she nearly tripped. Alex was not in the country. He was not in Town. He was gone.
And she didn’t know if he would be in one piece when she found him again.
24
By the time Lucy found Morgan in the nursery, cradling his son, she was out of breath. She had sprinted the length of Tenwick Abbey, checking all the parlors, the library, his office, and finally being directed here. She leaned against the door frame to catch her breath.
Morgan looked up, a frown on his face. “Lucy, you’re home. I thought you meant to stay in London for the Season.”
That had merely been a ruse in order for her
to find Monsieur V, which she hadn’t done. She gulped for air, her head spinning a bit and her knees weak from the run. It was a very big estate, and the nursery was on the fourth floor.
“Something terrible has happened.”
Morgan gently set the baby in his cradle. With a frown, he wordlessly shooed Lucy out of the room. When she backed into the corridor, he followed and shut the door.
His gray eyes pierced her. “What’s happened? Where are Mrs. Vale and Charlie?”
Lucy batted her hand as she panted. “They’re somewhere on the estate. I ran ahead.” She offered him the signet ring clutched in her fist.
He strode closer to the window at the end of the corridor. Daylight spilled in, the scene beyond showing Tenwick Abbey’s wide lawn up to the tree line. The moment her brother examined the ring, he looked at her sharply.
“What has that fiend done to you?”
“Nothing.” Nothing aside from break her heart when he’d chosen his revenge over her. That didn’t mean she was going to let him die. She didn’t give up on people that easily, certainly not the ones she cared about. “He’s missing. Monsieur V—”
The moment the name left her lips, Morgan’s expression turned stony. He advanced on her. She pressed her back against the wall. She’d never seen him look so forbidding.
“Not here. My office. Now.”
He granted her little reprieve to catch her breath. She trotted to keep up with his long-legged stride as he led the way. Mr. Keeling, Morgan’s assistant, seemed to recognize her brother’s agitation, but Morgan waved him away. He shut the door to his study forcibly.
The painting on the wall, of a centuries-old fox hunt, seemed to glare at her. The dogs snarled as if they cornered her instead of the fox.
Morgan rounded on her. “He told you?” His eyes snapped with fury.
Pursuing The Traitor (Scandals and Spies Book 5) Page 17
