Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01]

by One Wicked Night

  “Hello, Jack,” she sighed. “I hope that you are doing better than me today.”

  Standing on two legs, he meowed for the salver in her hands. She set down the plate with some of Cook’s sliced turkey, and he attacked it with voracious intensity. Watching him tear into the meat, she muttered, “I’m glad that someone can enjoy Cook’s food today.”

  “Lillian,” a soft male voice called from nearby.

  She looked up sharply. Russell stood on the other side of the black iron gate just paces away. His brown eyes topped the gold-tipped spikes of the entry.

  Rising quickly, she started. “You’re back! What happened? Where is Nick?”

  “Nick is still at Brooks’s.”

  “With Kane?”

  “Yes.”

  Sunlight flashed on something silver. From between the bars, a small pistol with a dark black barrel was pointed at her chest.

  “What are you—?”

  Then it crashed into her consciousness. She had not been paranoid, simply blinded by her unwillingness to believe it was true. Dillon’s embroidered handkerchief left next to Lady Langham’s body…Dillon’s personal correspondence…Russell’s aversion to visiting his brother at Newgate. He wore Canterbury violet cologne! It was he who had attacked her in Litchfield Park!

  “Russell,” she whispered. “What have you done?”

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. But it’s your fault. Everything was because of you!”

  She turned and dashed for the house.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  She froze, petrified. Her heart was hammering so loudly that she marveled he couldn’t hear it. Would he actually shoot her? He had just tried to pin a murder on his brother, so he was probably capable of anything.

  Swallowing, she whispered, “What do you want?”

  “I need to know what is real. You owe me that. After what we mean to each other, you have not been honest with me.”

  “And pointing a gun is supposed to endear me to you,” she charged, anger seeping into her voice. “Convince me to be more forthcoming.” Slowly, she turned, facing the guppy that had turned into a shark.

  He swallowed, and she noticed the perspiration gleaming on his brow.

  “Come here and open this.” He waved to the gate. A new shiny brass lock sealed the entry closed, keeping him out and her in.

  Bless you, Nicholas Redford!

  “Nick must have placed the lock on the gate. I do not have the key.”

  “I suppose he knew that you were in danger.”

  Was that a threat of his intentions? Her blood chilled. Her childhood friend had turned into a terrorizing stranger. Was he also a cold-blooded murderer?

  “Stop this, Russell,” she urged, her mouth dry as dust. “Put the gun down and we will talk.”

  “About what?” he sneered. “About how you have taken a lowly bastard to your bed?”

  “It was your doing,” she lured.

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “He had nowhere else to go. You burned down his house.”

  His face blanched. Revulsion twisted inside of her as she realized that her gambit had paid off.

  A righteous anger filled her, and she shouted, “What is wrong with you? You’re killing people. Targeting your own flesh and blood! What did you suppose was going to happen, Russell? Was I going to fall in a faint into your arms?”

  The redness flushing his cheeks told her that her supposition was correct. Her belly flipped with repugnance.

  He’d cracked. The lad had gone ’round the bend, and she was not about to blame herself for his sickness.

  “I’d sooner die than ever take up with you.”

  “But you took up with Dillon—”

  “To get away from beastly Kane!” She couldn’t believe that she was standing there talking to a madman. She wondered whether he would actually shoot if she made a dash for the house. More importantly, would he actually hit her? But all of the Mayburn men were crack shots.

  With his free hand, he tugged at one of his blond tresses. “I don’t understand….” He looked so distressed, so lost. “Please tell me why this is happening.”

  “Because you’re mad?”

  “It made perfect sense when Kane laid it out.”

  Kane. Her heart sank. She felt a rush of responsibility. “Kane put you up to this?” But if she died, Kane got nothing. Where was the benefit in that?

  “Dillon was using you. He was taking, taking, taking, as he always did,” Russell cried bitterly. “It was the same old story, but now he was hurting you. I was trying to help you.”

  “How was Dillon supposedly hurting me?” she asked, unable to stop herself. It was like a passerby being drawn to a carriage smashup; she was appalled, and yet fascinated.

  “You deserve to be the Marchioness of Beaumont. Not sport for his pleasure.”

  “But I did not wish to marry him,” she bit out. This was an old story; it had not changed.

  “He should have made you.”

  “How? By holding me at pistol point?”

  “The man deserves Newgate.”

  Lillian knew someone else who fit that bill. A couple of men, in fact. He might be mad, but she was crazy for staying and talking to him.

  “I know that you were doing what you thought was for the best, Russell…” She edged backward, figuring that if she got far enough away, it would increase her chances of escape.

  “I’m not ready for you to go, Lillian,” he insisted, raising the fireman.

  She halted. “What do you want from me, Russell?” Jack rubbed up against her leg, and she jumped. Carefully she tried to nudge him out of harm’s way with her leg. Fortunately, he somehow seemed to understand and took off. She almost sagged with relief.

  “I want you to recognize all that I’ve done for you.” Russell pounded his free hand to his breast in a tight fist.

  Anger blazed through her. “Attacking me in the gazebo in the park? You did that for my own good?”

  “I did not mean to hurt you.” The pistol wavered. “But you struggled and tried to run away. You gave me no choice. And then that blasted Redford showed up. He wasn’t supposed to be there. I was just trying to tell you to make him go away.”

  “What other fine things have you done for me, Russell? Murder? Arson? You cannot claim these things for my benefit. I would sooner cut out my own heart as do the terrible things that you have done. You are a wretched human being, and if you cannot see that, then you are more witless than I could have imagined.” The litany was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Belatedly she realized that she was egging him on. Who was the witless one now?

  He seemed to be huffing, struggling to breathe. His cheeks paled, and the firearm quivered in his hand. Slowly, he raised the pistol and extended his arm through the bars, aiming it at her chest.

  Time seemed to stand still; the birds ceased their chirping, the sun darkened and the wind died. Lillian closed her eyes, waiting for the blast. So this was the end, and astoundingly, she was not afraid. She had not exactly led a righteous life, but it had not been completely without virtue, especially at the end. Her affairs were in order, everything would go to charity. Fanny would be all right. Nick would save Dillon. Nick…Her heart contracted. Tears burned the back of her eyes. She was abandoning him, just like everyone else that he had ever cared for.

  “Drop the gun, Mayburn!” She would know that deep, rumbling voice anywhere.

  Nick! Her heart thrilled. Her eyes flew open. She felt him, like a potent presence, behind her.

  He was holding a long-necked black pistol before him as he slowly stalked forward. “Get in the house, Lillian.”

  “Don’t move!” Russell screamed. His pistol shifted to target Nick’s chest.

  No!

  “Kane made him do it,” Lillian cried, trying to end this madness without spilling blood.

  “Go inside,” Nick growled.

  “Tell him, Russell. Tell him how Kane played you for a fo
ol.”

  Russell blinked rapidly, as if dazed. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” He swayed slightly.

  “It was all Kane’s idea,” she cried. “In the end he knew you would take the fall.”

  Russell blanched. He slowly lowered the weapon.

  Relief washed over her so powerfully that she felt faint.

  Nick raced forward, yanking the pistol from Mayburn’s grip and sticking it into his coat pocket. Keeping his own firearm leveled at the knave, he pulled a key from his coat and unlocked the door.

  Mayburn fell forward onto both hands, landing on a rock. Nick had no sympathy for the stupid bugger. He’d brought it all on himself by coveting his brother’s mistress.

  Mayburn’s blond head bobbed up and down, and a sob escaped from his throat. “He played me, he played me…for a fool…”

  Hicks came running up.

  “Send Gillman to the Bow Street office, Hicks,” Nick ordered. “I need Kim and Kelly here, posthaste!”

  “Yes, sir!” The butler turned heel and ran.

  Pinching his nose and blinking wildly as if fighting back tears, Mayburn moaned, “I didn’t mean for any of it. I never expected…never supposed…”

  Nick turned to Lillian, trying to stem the violence that was surging through him. Still, he barked, “I told you to get back to the house, Lillian.”

  “I was not about to let him kill you.” She stepped over and snuck under his arm, being careful not to disturb his pistol hand.

  Nick squeezed her close. Now that she was all right and the danger had passed, he almost quaked with the power of his terror. Seeing Mayburn standing there with a pistol pointed at her chest had been like experiencing his worst nightmare. His mouth still tasted the tang of fear.

  It had been an awful moment that had crystallized everything he felt for Lillian into one pinpoint of light. Perfect. Beautiful. His. It was as if God had created her especially for him. He adored her beyond anything that he had ever held dear, beyond everything he had ever experienced. Beyond reckoning.

  “You scared the bloody hell out of me,” was all he could say. There were no words to describe his feelings. The vulnerability of seeing her so close to death had shaken him to the core.

  “I’m all right.” Her smile was tight. “Now that you’re here.” She hugged him, and he wanted to hold her forever and never let her go. But he did not tell her this. Hell, he could hardly comprehend it himself.

  Shaken by the intensity of his feelings, he fell back on what was easy. He turned to Mayburn. “When the police officers come, you are going to tell them everything. Everything that Kane put you up to.”

  “How did you know to come?” Lillian asked.

  “Something Mayburn said at the club. Only the arsonist would know about Mrs. Bears. I didn’t catch it right away. But something else was nagging at me.” He had had his sights so set on Kane, his anger raised to such a fury, that he had almost missed it. He had almost taken too long to figure it out. When the realization had hit him, he had raced out of Brooks’s like a rabbit in bow shot. If he had not acted right away…if he had lost Lillian…He swallowed hard, unable to face the prospect of a world without Lillian Kane.

  “What was nagging you?”

  He shook off his emotions, focusing instead on the facts. “His cologne. I recognized it as the same one that Beaumont wears. It made perfect sense. Mayburn was the insider, your turncoat.”

  “He told me that Lord Langham killed his wife.” Wiping his eyes with his hand, Mayburn shook his head. “That the man was distraught…that we were doing good from bad.”

  “And you believed him?” Nick scoffed.

  “Were you supposed to marry me?” Lillian asked. “And then sign over my entire dowry to him?”

  Mayburn’s features flushed red. “Yes,” he whispered.

  Lillian pressed her face into Nick’s chest, and he squeezed her tight. He hated that she had to suffer this way. To see the filth that was a mockery of a man. He wished he could protect her from it, forever. Today, at least, was a start.

  “You gave Kane your brother’s handkerchief?” Nick demanded.

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “And the letters?”

  “Yes.”

  “This makes no sense,” Lillian muttered. “Russell was crazed enough to do these horrible things but rational enough to see them through? He must be sick.”

  “He is. But there was method to his madness,” Nick avowed. “He is a murderer.”

  Facing Mayburn, she charged, “What of the Mayburn motto? What about protecting your own flesh and blood? You knew what you were doing was wrong.”

  “Yes,” he whispered miserably. Tears lined his pasty cheeks. “I guess, deep down I did.”

  “I wonder how Kane is going to enjoy John Newman’s amenities,” Nick murmured.

  “You think that there is enough proof?” Lillian looked up, anxiety permeating her beautiful gaze. As if Kane’s demise was beyond what she could hope for. Anger surged through him at the pain the bastard had caused her. He would stop at nothing to ensure that Kane paid the piper.

  Nick kissed the top of her golden hair as conviction filled him. He would protect her from Kane and anyone else, or die trying. “Kane will never get near you again,” he vowed, feeling the pledge down to his soul.

  Her eyes slid to Mayburn. “Hanging?”

  He nodded. “Between Russell’s account and what I’ve already gathered, Solicitor General Dagwood will have more than enough to make both of them swing.”

  Sadness filled her gaze. That she could still feel compassion for that miserable wretch of a human being did her credit. But Nick was not as forgiving.

  “By tonight, Beaumont will be freed.” He was glad for it. But where did this leave him and Lillian?

  “Thank you, Nick. Thank you.” She hugged him close. “I don’t know what I would ever have done without you.”

  Chapter 27

  Lillian rolled over, reaching for him, but Nick was not there. She tried to clear the sleepy cobwebs from her mind. Sudden fear gripped her. She sat up. “Nick?”

  “Oh, you’re awake.” He stepped out of the dressing room, wearing only an ivory linen shirt and smalls.

  Pressing her hand to her heart, she willed it to slow.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, worry knitting his brow.

  She nodded. “I couldn’t find you.”

  His handsome face softened, and he sat on the edge of the bed. “Well, I’m right here.”

  Scooting over on the mattress, she laid her cheek on his wide, muscled thigh. He grazed his hand over her hair, brushing it gently.

  “Can we stay in bed today?” she implored, trying to keep her voice from sounding too desperate. “Let the world go on without us just for a few hours.”

  His hand lowered to her back, swirling in gentle circles. “I cannot do that, Lillian. I still have much work to do with Dagwood on the prosecutions against Kane and Mayburn. Greayston might be horrified by his younger son’s actions, but he is still paying for some pretty forceful counsel for Mayburn’s defense. The man is making noises, trying to blame it all on Kane.”

  “Greayston only sees what he wants to. If Kane is the villain, then Russell is not to blame.”

  “Well, the barrister he retained is fighting the prosecution tooth and nail.”

  “But Russell confessed.”

  He glowered. “There’s a lawyer for you.”

  “What difference would it make to the prosecutions if you stayed here with me one afternoon?” she argued, trying not to sound too forlorn. “You have been working almost nonstop since Russell’s arrest seven days ago. You deserve a break.”

  “There is still the business at Andersen Hall.”

  “What is so important that it cannot wait?”

  His hand stilled, resting flat on her back. “The Board of Trustees meets today, and I cannot miss it.”

  “Will Marcus be there?”

  “Unless he’s a complete wastrel, he
will show at the meeting.”

  “I do not like him,” she murmured, sifting her fingers through the coarse hairs around his knee.

  “You have not even met the man.”

  “But you do not like him.”

  “I did not like him as a child.” She felt him shrug. “I expect that I have to see how he has managed to turn out. The lad I knew was not one to become a war hero, but Marcus has done just that.”

  “So you will give him the opportunity to prove himself?”

  “If he manages to stay around. The Marcus Dunn I knew was quick to take off at the first sign of trouble.”

  Rolling over, she stared up at this man who was so dear. “Then the query is: Can leopards actually change their spots?”

  He moved his hand to her neck, grasping it in a gentle hold. Her pulse pounded against his palm. “I, obviously, changed mine.”

  “Don’t sound so desolate,” she chided. “We have done nothing wrong.”

  “I broke my pledge.”

  “Do you regret it?” she asked, knowing the answer. They were too well suited for him to truly regret it.

  “I can’t,” he murmured, leaning over and pressing his lips to hers in a delicate kiss. “But I know that I should.”

  Opening her mouth to him, she pushed away the flurry of worry. She had been seeing signs that Nick was not wholly content with their arrangement. She had been trying to ignore it, but her nightmares would not let her hide her head in the sand.

  In her dreams she was looking for Nick, calling out to him, reaching for him, but he was not there. Where could he be? Fear washed over her like a tide of longing. Often he came, only to disappear like a ghost misting into a cloud. Once in a dream, he appeared before her as a king, adorned in blazing armor to the hilt, a ghost, just like Hamlet’s dead father. Again, he faded away into the haze of the dawn at the ramparts, before ever telling her that he loved her.

  Closing her eyes, she pushed away all morbid thoughts, living for the moment, living for his kiss on her lips. Raking her hands through his hair, her tongue met his, and the familiar thrills shimmered through her. She groaned. Intensifying the passionate play, she showed him with her body that she wanted to evolve the kiss from sweet to more fiery.