Secrets In Savannah (Phantom Knights)

by Amalie Vantana

  Running through the people who had come to visit me, I nearly laughed aloud. Leo had a partiality for Rose Eldridge, and if Bess was to be believed, Rose returned his regard.

  Rose Eldridge was a beautiful, graceful, brilliant widow whose husband had died during the war. She and I had become friends and, truth be told, I could see why Leo had a tendre for her. If Guinevere did not consume my heart, I would have developed one for her myself. She was without equal in grace. If Leo wanted to court her, he would have my full support and blessing.

  When Leo returned to the house, I said nothing about Rose, but intended to watch them throughout the party. It would be interesting to see how my staid friend courted a woman.

  Leo told me about Guinevere’s arrival that morning in Charleston, but when he said she was not alone, I grew concerned.

  “I will not tell you who it was,” Leo said as he helped me to dress for the ball, “but you should know that Hannah and Guinevere were trained by the same man.”

  It was half of an hour into the ball when I saw Guinevere and her companion enter the house. At the bottom of the stairs, Sam and Bess, dressed as King Alfred the Great and his wife Ealhswith for reasons all their own, were greeting a woman dressed as Marie Antoinette and one as Athena. We all knew that Guinevere was Athena, but we did not know who the other was.

  When they entered the ballroom, I followed.

  Guinevere’s former chaperone from Philadelphia had come to the house to see me after I had been shot. Martha assured me that Guinevere was well and that she would return. When Bess issued an invitation to Martha for the ball, I was perplexed. It was not until Rose came in to tell us of her conversation with Martha that the pieces came together. Martha had been probing about what costume Rose would wear. Rose, a suspicious woman by nature, had told Martha that she would be dressing as Athena. It was no surprise to see Guinevere dressed as Athena and wearing a black wig to match Rose’s hair.

  What she was about, I did not know, but I was determined to find out.

  When the dancing began, I made my way to the group surrounding Guinevere’s companion. When I solicited her hand for the dance just forming, she accepted.

  When we took our places in the dance, my gaze focused on an orange and pink stone attached to a black ribbon around the woman’s neck. “What an interesting imitation,” I said.

  Her voice was low and husky as she tittered. “Darling, imitations are for the poor. This padparadscha sapphire was a gift to my great grandmother from Marie Antoinette herself.”

  “What is your name?” I asked as I took her hand in the dance.

  Her powdered face smiled brilliantly. “Sherry.”

  “Sherry,” I repeated, disbelieving but willing to go along with the ruse.

  She nodded. “As delicious to say as it is to drink,” she said as she cast me a flirtatious smile.

  I nearly stumbled as realization struck me dumb, but Sherry was too caught up in her performance to realize my blunder.

  For a moment, I tried to assure myself that I had not heard her right, that any number of women could have a voice like that, but it was not so. There was only one Hannah Lamont, and she was not only in Charleston, but traveling with Guinevere.

  Hannah Lamont had been trained by the same man as Guinevere? That in itself was a cause for caution, but the fact that she was in Charleston, where the remainder of the Phantoms were located, was cause for alarm.

  When the dance ended and I had returned Hannah to her seat, I went in search of Guinevere. Only she could explain what game she was playing at in bringing Hannah to my sister’s house.

  Guinevere was not in the ballroom, nor in the parlor, but I found Sam.

  “Have you seen Guinevere?”

  “In the book room. Uncle George requested to speak with her.”

  “You told him that she was here?” I demanded in a low, incredulous voice.

  Sam shrugged, not seeing why it mattered. “It is only George. He will not cause a scene in my house.”

  He moved away and I turned to the book room door. If it was only George, why then were there men guarding the door to the book room?

  Making my way out the front door, I walked to the side of the house where a wall of windows looked into the book room.

  The two story book room was alight with candles and seated behind Sam’s desk was George. Guinevere was standing midway between the windows and the door. Her costume of Athena included a helmet that she had worn over her wig of black hair, and a spear that was no longer in her hand. Her face was strained as she listened to George.

  Thanks to some unknown person who had left a window open, I, too, heard what he was saying.

  “Tell me, does Jack know who you are?”

  Looking straight at George, she said nothing, her mouth clamped in a tight line. I knew that George was referring to the white phantom, but there was so much more to her than that character that Harvey created, and I named.

  “I thought not,” George said before he tapped on the desk twice.

  Guinevere sprang forth, running across the room and out one of the door sized windows.

  Guinevere knew something I did not, for why would she run from George? When five men charged into the book room, understanding filled me. George was trying to capture her, knowing she could not make a scene in a house full of witnesses.

  One of the men followed her through the open window and wrapped his arms around her waist. She let out a growl and threw her head back, slamming it against his nose. He let go with one hand, but the other was still around her. My every impulse was to rush forward and dispose of that fool who dared to touch her. I heard the fabric of her dress ripping as two more guards grabbed at her arms and her waist, pulling her back toward the book room.

  Guinevere twisted her body one way and then the other, swung her legs, kicked shins, got an elbow free and used it against one of her assailant’s ribs. She got one entire side of her body loose and pulled back toward the terrace.

  The click of a pistol hammer being drawn back froze her for an instant. George aimed the pistol at her chest and I nearly lost all control on my emotions. Heat blazed in my head, filling my face. That he would dare to point a gun at her had me reaching for my own pistol.

  “I had my suspicions about who the sister would be, though to be honest I never hoped for this.”

  My strong, iron willed Guinevere held George’s gaze, doing her best to look unconcerned.

  “There is no escape for you or your sister. He is coming.”

  My stomach twisted with revulsion and disbelief at the hatred in George’s voice, and the truth there. George was the man who had captured Edith.

  Quickly examining George’s five men, they were all large and unpleasant by the looks of them. I was not in my best shape, but I was certain that George would let her go when I demanded it. I started forward, but George’s hatred halted me.

  “He will arrive soon, and after I am paid, you and your sister will once again belong to him.”

  I did not know of whom he spoke, but I knew with every ounce of conviction in my body that whoever he was, he would never touch Guinevere. Of that, I was about to make certain.

  CHAPTER 5

  GUINEVERE

  There were few things in this world that I would not do, and considering propriety was not a part of that small list. So when Sam told me that I was requested in the book room thoughts of propriety, of my reputation did not enter my mind. My only thoughts were that Jack was waiting for me, and nothing else mattered.

  As soon as I entered the room and saw George Crawford seated behind the desk, I knew that Jack had nothing to do with this.

  After George told me that he would turn my sister and me over to the man who was coming for us, he had the impudence to laugh, and the sound ignited a spark within me.

  “You have nothing to say?”

  He had to have known that I would not give him the satisfaction of a reply, not when I did not mean for him to succeed in his plan.<
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  “As you wish.” George turned to one of his guards, which meant his head guard. “I will go first. Wait two minutes and then take her through the garden to the carriage.” George faced me again, smiling that annoying thin lipped smile that made his cheeks look puffier and three lines to form on each side of his mouth. “Do not underestimate her for a mere woman. She has claws.”

  His head guard smirked at me, but quickly changed the look into acquiescence for George, which meant that I already had an advantage. The man’s smirk was enough to tell me that he underestimated me.

  George nodded to his men and left the room. As the door snapped shut, I looked at each man, searching for their flaws. The head guard I knew to be an over-estimator. He would be the last into a fight, waiting to see how his men made out before he soiled his own hands. The man next to him was a broad bruiser. His nose was crooked, no doubt the result of many fights. He favored his left leg.

  The third man across from me was eyeing me like a wolf to his prey. Hungry eyes roved over my body, but it was what his body was doing that told me all I needed to know. He was standing a little hunched over, with his arms crossed over his chest without a thought except for what he would like to do to me.

  Men like that I had dealt with the whole of my career. The way he crossed his arms and where his thoughts were focused assured me that he would try to use brute strength. He would go for my hair first, and pull me up against him so that I knew what he could do to me if I did not cooperate. Men like that were always too quick to guard their face, but not quick on the nether regions. Always hit them where it counts the most.

  The man to my left was not looking at me which meant that he was more about getting the job done and, by the smell of him, getting back to his rum. The man to my right was more like the lecher man across from me though I had already angered this one. He was holding a handkerchief to his nose where I bashed him with my head. His eyes were slits of anger. I would have to hit him first.

  “It is time. Let’s move.”

  Two guards moved down the steps to the garden, and when they gave the signal, the two holding me led me toward the edge of the terrace. They would not want me to be seen through the many windows of the house, so I knew they were going to try to hand me down to the two below.

  With the guards’ hands holding my arms, I lifted my feet and shoved hard against the balustrade. The guards’ released my arms and I was flung into the head guard. The impact of my body against his chest sent us both reeling back into the book room, and we crashed against the desk. I rolled off him, but he was quick and got a hand to my arm. I grabbed a metal inkstand and brought it down hard against his hand. He squawked and released me as the two from the terrace came toward us.

  My heart was dancing around in my chest as I leapt to the right and picked up a fire poker. Two hands grabbed my waist, and I lost all sense of calm. If I could get to the door, help would be on the other side. If no one else, I knew Sam would help me.

  Using the poker, I slammed the iron hard against the man’s leg, then used the end to stab at his side. He released me as he stumbled, and I turned, ready for the next assault.

  The man whose nose I had broken came toward me, growling like men do when they are angry. He came in low with his hands out like paws braced before him.

  Holding the iron tight, I acted as if I were going for his head. His hands flew up to block. I slammed the poker against his groin and legs. As he shouted, his hands cupping himself, I hit him on the back of the head.

  The poker was wrenched from my hands, and an arm went around my neck from behind. Glancing around the room for something to use, my hands fisted, preparing to battle this out like men if that is what it would take.

  “Release her. At once!”

  At that voice, my breath rushed out of me. Hearing it again caused tiny shivers of pleasure to flit along my arms. When he was shot, I did not think I would ever hear his voice again. As the familiar rush of love overtook my chest, I fought against my captor to turn. I needed a glimpse of Jack. Every part of me yearned for him.

  My captor turned us toward the voice and my body momentarily sagged at the sight of Jack. He was not wearing a costume, only an elegant black coat slightly askew, his white shirt was ripped, his silk knee breeches were creased, and his white stockings were muddied. The sight of him, alive, caused my heart to slip and slide like trying to walk on ice.

  I straightened my shoulders as I watched Jack; his attention focused on my captor.

  Broken nose straightened and charged toward Jack, and I could do nothing to help him as the head guard kept his muscular arm around my neck. If only I had worn boots with heels instead of slippers. Stomping on my captor’s foot would do little other than hurting my own foot. Jack was getting some good hits on broken nose as the head guard moved me toward the window.

  I was not a defenseless female; I had never cried for help, and I refused to do so then. Thinking over my options, I ruled out shoving against my captor, for we would both tumble over the balustrade, and I could get hurt. We passed a dagger on the terrace, but I could not get a hand free.

  With his arm around my neck, I knew that it would not take much for him to kill me. I would have to wait until we got over the balustrade before I could attack.

  As we bumped into the balustrade, a long pole struck my captor’s body. As my spear struck him again, I pulled free of his grasp as he tumbled over the balustrade to the ground.

  Standing on the grass between the unconscious bodies of two guards was Hannah. She mouthed the word carriage. I nodded and turned to check on Jack.

  He hit a final blow against broken nose. As the man fell, Jack shook out his hand, and I could see his bloody knuckles. The sight of blood on Jack made departure flee from my mind.

  Jack saw me and for a moment there was no expression on his face. My breath stilled and the horror of the past few months crashed down around me. All of the injuries that he had endured over the past year were my fault. I would not blame him if he despised me, but the thought was unbearable. A sob escaped me before I could choke it back.

  In three strides, Jack was before me. His hands went around my waist and pulled me against him, his lips pressing hard against mine. My eyes closed as an overwhelming rush of love turned me into a well of want. My hands moved up his arms to his shoulders as I returned the pressure of his lips. Jack was alive, and the warmth spreading from my brain all the way to my toes caused me to pull him closer. Tingles chased each other along my arms as passion heated me to near boiling.

  Somewhere in my mind, I could hear a warning, but it was not loud enough to pay heed to. The warning must have been louder for Jack. He pulled back, and a disgruntled, and somewhat embarrassing, moan came from me.

  He took my face between his hands, his eyes searching mine.

  “I love you,” I whispered. “I thought I lost you. Please believe that if I had known you were alive, I would never have left Charleston. I would never leave you.”

  “You did not choose to leave me?” he asked, his expression guarded.

  “No! Nor would I ever again.”

  The smile that lifted his lips was so tender that tears burned my eyes, and rarely had I ever experienced that emotion. Not until Jack entered my life and turned it upside down.

  “I love you,” he said and the truth in his look and his touch sent me over the edge. I kissed him again, pulling him as close as I could get him.

  When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine. “What is happening here, Guinevere?”

  My sister’s face slammed into the front of my mind and then that of George Crawford. My teeth began to grind. I pushed Jack’s hands away, taking a step away from him. “I promise to tell you everything, but first we must keep George from departing.” There was enough hysteria in my voice to make Jack walk to the door.

  He turned at the door, pointing a finger at me. “Do not move.”

  He pulled the door open, glanced around, and then snapped his fi
ngers, signaling for someone to come near. He looked over his shoulder to make sure I was still there and then Jack’s fellow Phantom came into view.

  Leopold Perry was dressed as a guard from the French court, sword and all. He looked into the room, saw me, and his face transformed from no emotion to a range of emotions too complex to translate.

  “I need you to find George at once,” Jack said, drawing Leo’s attention.

  Leo’s face faded of any telling emotion as he said, “George departed five minutes ago.”

  Jack tensed, but had Leo enter the book room. Before he could close the door, Sam pushed his way inside.

  Sam’s intense expression was rather frightening as he took in the disarray of his book room.

  “What have you been doing now?” Sam demanded, but not of Jack. He was looking straight at me.

  “Perhaps you should ask your uncle that, and while you are about it, ask him why he has captured Guinevere’s sister,” Jack said as he took my hand and faced his sister’s husband.

  “George is responsible for this?” Sam sounded less than convinced, not that I placed blame on that. George was his uncle after all.

  “George has gone past the bounds of what is acceptable, Sam, and you should know that I will do all within my power to stop him.” Jack began pulling me toward the window. “Clean this mess up, will you, Leo.”

  Without heeding Sam’s demand for him to halt, Jack led me across the terrace to a door that led into the back of the house.

  His hand tightened on mine as he pulled me with him up a set of narrow stairs to the upper floor. Speaking with him in private was foremost in my mind, so I did not heed where he was leading me until he led me into a bedchamber.

  As he locked the door, placing the key in his inner coat pocket, a slither of unease formed in my stomach.

  I was aware of the large bed that was beside me, but I tried not to look at it, even as my heart began a new pattern of beats. The only light in the room was from a fire that was burning in the grate. The mixture of the warm room and my cold body caused shivers to overtake me. The room was masculine in every sense, and smelled decidedly of Jack. The fresh scent that comes after rain.