Duke of Secrets (Moonlight Square, Book 2)

by Gaelen Foley

  He blinked rapidly to clear his vision after the pressure on his eyes, but Azrael’s stomach lurched when he saw the number of men crowded into the barrow.

  God, help me. Dry-mouthed, blood running down his chest, he glanced around the inside of the ancient chambered tomb.

  He did his best not to think about the unlikelihood of his getting out alive. Instead, he distracted himself from the fear by focusing on the barrow.

  Since his boyhood, he had always wondered what it was like inside. Wouldn’t Toby love to see this? he tried joking to himself while Stiver consulted with Jarvis.

  At least, he suspected it was Stiver and Jarvis. Robed and masked as they were, it was impossible to be entirely certain.

  In any case, Azrael had to admit he could feel the profound and mysterious power resonating in this place. A womb of stone arced overhead, but there was the smell of death and a claustrophobic closeness. It was rounded and dark, though lit by torches.

  Meanwhile, Stiver’s followers, some three or four dozen cloaked figures, stared at him from behind their masks, silent.

  It was one of the most unnerving moments in his frequently unnerving life.

  Jesus.

  “Brothers,” Stiver said, the first to remove his expressionless black mask, “I present to you our newest member. Know, all of you, that our seers predicted at Azrael’s birth that he was destined to be great among our number, touched by the gods. Behold, I give you the Duke of Rivenwood.”

  Azrael lifted his chin and looked around, acknowledging them with a nod, acutely aware of the dagger in his boot. How would he ever fend off so many?

  Suddenly, the moment was at hand. A muffled shout echoed down one of the subterranean passages into the barrow: “Masters, the tunnel’s been discovered!”

  “What’s this?”

  “What did he say?” Confusion, alarm, and murmurs of uncertainty rippled through the crowd.

  Azrael was already reaching for the knife hidden in his boot.

  “How can this be?” someone uttered.

  “Run, my lords!” the watchman bellowed down the tunnel. “It’s a trap!”

  In the next moment, chaos broke out everywhere.

  With a roar, Rotherstone and his forces attacked, blasting out of three of the tunnels simultaneously, their faces covered. They barreled forth into the gathering, knocking men down, pursuing others, wreaking havoc on the crowd. Or rather, putting the fear of God in them.

  The agents were armed, but Azrael knew their goal was not to kill unless they had to.

  Instead, they were driving the Prometheans as a herd into the fourth tunnel, on the other end of which Lord Falconridge and Mrs. Fisher waited with more men stationed there to capture the conspirators as they came pouring out.

  The fifth tunnel—leading to the Dunhaven house—had been sealed off long ago, as Serena’s mother had explained. Both sides knew this by now, so no one attempted either to enter or to flee by that route.

  The barrow had now turned into the scene of a riot. Mere seconds had passed, and Azrael had to plant his feet wide to keep from being swept along in the stampede.

  Across from him, Stiver also stood firm against the rushing of the panicked occultists.

  Azrael looked over at the earl and found him staring at him with shock and utter hatred.

  Stiver still clenched the ceremonial dagger in his hand, and across the mass of fleeing men between them, Azrael saw the earl’s eyes turn black with rage.

  “You did this. Traitor!” Stiver said through gritted teeth. “Oh, but you’ll pay. Kill him,” he ordered his followers, then he moved toward the narrow mouth into the fifth tunnel.

  “Not that way, my lord. It’s sealed!” Jarvis cried.

  “My daughter will let me in. Just like her mother,” Stiver said with a bone-chilling sneer.

  Azrael’s heart skipped a beat as he realized the sickening double meaning, the vile threat.

  Hearing that Stiver thought they could penetrate the blockade at the end of the tunnel, Jarvis and a few others rushed in ahead of him, while Stiver lingered just long enough to send Azrael a look that brimmed with vengeance. “Goodbye, Rivenwood. I intend to disappear, and I’m taking my daughter with me. You’ll never see her again.”

  “No!” Azrael bellowed.

  “Follow me and she dies,” Stiver added. Casting off his robes, he vanished into the blackness of the tunnel.

  The next thing Azrael knew, he was fighting for his life. On the earl’s orders, half a dozen men hemmed him in and attacked.

  Azrael fought like a demon, besieged on all sides.

  All he could think about was going after Stiver and stopping him before he got anywhere near Serena, but he was detained by a ring of bastards out for his blood, now that they knew he’d betrayed them.

  He punched one in the face, sent another sprawling into his fellows with a kick to the side, then slashed at a third who came at him from the left. He was pummeled several times, thrown into a cluster of men, bleeding all the while from the ritual wound on his chest.

  Soon, thankfully, even his most determined opponents fled before the onslaught of the Order.

  The agents were clearly in their glory, loving the melee, and relishing the chance to strike terror in the hearts of their enemies.

  Obviously, the big one was Warrington, but, damn, Azrael thought, Rotherstone was fast, and the one laughing in the middle of the fight, mocking the haughty Prometheans to their faces must be Beauchamp.

  The agents were making their way toward him, trying to come to his aid, but by now, it was no longer necessary. He had matters in hand.

  “You all right?” Rotherstone shouted.

  Azrael waved and gave him a nod, then blocked a blow and struck back at his next attacker with a sharp jab to the bastard’s throat. He collapsed with a garbled cough, clutching his neck.

  Azrael didn’t wait to speak to his new chums, as they were still engaged managing the flow of angry occultists into the tunnel, unaware that on the other end, Falconridge and company waited to take them into custody.

  Instead, he finally extricated himself from the fray. Several minutes had passed, but at last, he was able to pursue Stiver into the fifth passageway.

  He grabbed a torch off the wall, his heart pounding, and left the chaos behind, ducking into the pitch-black tunnel to go to Serena.

  He vowed that he’d burn down the world if he got there too late.

  CHAPTER 21

  Unleashed

  “I know, Raja, I’m worried about him, too.”

  The dim, flickering glow of three small lanterns sent shadows writhing over the walls of the musty parlor, where Serena had determined to wait with her two large guards.

  Brody and Porter stood watch at the wide threshold where the sitting room joined the dark, spacious entrance hall beyond, with all its staring deer heads.

  Her parents’ abandoned hunting lodge was ten times eerier at night than in the daytime, Serena decided as she perched tensely on the Holland-covered couch near Raja’s cage.

  She’d been trying to soothe the animal with soft-toned words, but it wasn’t working.

  The leopard could not sit still, trying to pace in his cage, though there was scarcely room in it for him to turn around.

  Raja was understandably agitated, snarling and hissing by turns—but his ears perked up when a deep, muffled banging started.

  Serena froze at the sound.

  It was coming from somewhere in the house.

  Terror speared down her spine at the ominous rhythm, reverberating up to them from somewhere deep in the bowels of the house. She glanced at her guards in alarm.

  “What the hell is that?” Porter murmured.

  “Sounds like they’re trying to get in through the tunnel,” Brody said in a grim tone.

  Serena shot to her feet and looked at them anxiously. “But my mother said it’s all boarded up!”

  Both hard-eyed men sent her skeptical glances, and she realized that, to
some degree, they didn’t really trust her because of her Promethean bloodlines.

  “Milady, where does the tunnel come out inside the house?” They drew their weapons and both began stalking out into the entrance hall.

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head, heart pounding. “My mother said it’s in the cellar. Where that even is, I’ve no idea. I never lived here.”

  “Probably accessed through the kitchens. Get Roy in here. Tell him to stay with her, then follow me,” ordered Brody.

  While he strode off toward the kitchens to investigate, Porter jogged to the front door and called in their equally intimidating driver to assist.

  Apparently this was Roy.

  Still in his greatcoat, the big coachman hurried in carrying a shotgun and got into position by the sitting room doorway. This left only the driver of the wagon outside to mind both teams of horses, but Serena didn’t know his name.

  Once Roy marched in, Porter ran off to assist Brody in finding the entrance to the tunnel—and to bar the door, if need be.

  Serena was still standing there, trembling. “This was not supposed to happen,” she said in a small voice. The words escaped her by accident, but hearing them, Roy laughed softly.

  “Ah, milady, if I had a penny for every time I ’eard that.”

  His quip put her slightly at ease. “What should I do?” she asked, needing some way to contribute to take her mind off her dread.

  “Just be patient. It’ll be all right,” he said, never taking his stare off the corridor at the back of the entrance hall leading toward the kitchens. He did spare a glance at Raja when he hissed, though. “That thing can’t get out of there, can it?”

  “No.”

  “Whew. That’s all we need,” he muttered. “A damn tiger on the loose.”

  She didn’t bother pointing out the absence of stripes, but perhaps it would help if she could keep Raja calm. Of course, she could hardly keep herself calm right now, but it couldn’t hurt to try.

  She lowered herself gingerly onto the dust-filled sofa near the leopard’s cage and spoke soothingly to the animal. “There, there, boy.”

  Raja wanted her to know how unhappy he was about all this, though, baring his fangs and letting out a wild roar that made her gasp.

  “Sheezus!” Roy glanced at the beast, then chuckled again.

  His graveyard humor was so at odds with his bristling stance and the deadly loaded weapon in his hands that Serena found it all less than reassuring.

  The banging from below seemed to be getting louder.

  “What do we do if they break through?” she asked.

  “Those two fight. You and I leave.”

  “I can’t leave Raja. They’ll kill him just for spite if they get this far.”

  “They won’t.” Roy paused, staring into the corridor. “Anyway, it’s just a cat, ma’am. And I have my orders.”

  She frowned at his back. “Well, His Grace raised Raja from a cub. This cat means a great deal to him.”

  “Not as much as you do, I warrant. Your safety is our first—”

  Gunfire erupted from somewhere below. Shouts, more banging. Serena jumped to her feet again, wide-eyed, and Roy brought up his weapon immediately.

  They heard a man scream downstairs, obviously wounded.

  But which side was he on?

  It was impossible to tell.

  The front door suddenly opened and a fourth figure appeared, a long gun in his hand. The wagon driver. “What’s going on?” he exclaimed.

  Roy waved him out again. “Hold your position! Get back to the horses. We may need to go!”

  The man nodded and dashed out again, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Roy turned to Serena. “Go outside and get in the coach, ma’am,” the big man said calmly, his shotgun aimed at the kitchens. “We’ll be leavin’ in a moment. I’m goin’ to block the cellar door, then I’ll be right with you.”

  “But you can’t lock Brody and Porter down there with the Prometheans!” she said. “We don’t know how many they may have to fight. Roy—you have to help them.”

  He glanced back at her, wavering.

  “Go!” she urged him. “I’ll stay out of sight, I promise.”

  He nodded. “Be right back. But you’re right. I’ll see what I can do.” He ran off in the direction of the clamor.

  Serena cast about for a way to conceal Raja’s presence just in case the intruders made it past her guards.

  Glancing around, she whisked the dust cloth off the couch she had been sitting on, draping the large brown span of plain fabric over the leopard’s cage.

  Then she quickly doused the lanterns, ran to the front door, and opened it, waving to the wagon driver.

  “Go get the gates open!” she called as loudly as she dared.

  He snapped into motion, leaving both teams of horses in place, presumably, with the brakes of both vehicles set.

  Serena turned around and glanced at the corridor on the other side of the entrance hall, leading toward the kitchens.

  She could not see Roy coming back yet, but at least, in the now darkened sitting room, Raja’s cage could easily be mistaken for a large table covered in a tablecloth.

  If only its occupant would be still.

  Leaving the front door open behind her to admit the moonlight, she hurried over to the cage. “Raja, you have to be quiet, please,” she murmured through the Holland cloth.

  Perhaps the leopard somehow understood the urgency in her voice, or maybe he just felt calmer underneath the fabric barrier closing him in, for he went silent.

  Serena swallowed hard. She was sure her three formidable guards would stop any incursion into the house by Prometheans who might’ve somehow escaped the barrow, but she hurried to find a hiding place, just in case.

  She ducked out of sight behind the couch, just a few feet away from Raja’s cage.

  Maybe Roy was right. It probably was better to leave in one piece, if it came to that, rather than stay with the cat. Azrael would be most displeased if she got herself into a scrape on account of the animal.

  Suddenly remembering the weapon Mrs. Fisher had given her, she reached into her reticule and pulled out the small, one-shot pistol. She desperately hoped she didn’t have to use it.

  Her chaperone had showed her how it worked, but her knowledge was strictly theoretical. She had never fired a gun in her life—and wasn’t even entirely clear on how to reload it, though the lady spy had also given her a small, dainty case of extra ammunition. This, too, was in her reticule.

  Serena’s pulse pounded and her mouth was dry as she listened to the distant sound of a fight taking place somewhere within the house.

  Roy seemed to be taking a very long time. He must’ve gone down into the basement to help his mates after all, she thought, her heart in her throat.

  A few minutes passed. It was impossible to tell how many. Time had lost all meaning in her fear. Her limbs tingling with the pins and needles that heralded a nearing state of panic, she crouched out of sight, waiting, and striving to be calm.

  She heard more gunfire and nearly jumped out of her skin—what if the bullets could come through the floor? There was another scream or two, as well.

  Then silence.

  She didn’t know which was worse, the fight sounds or the ominous quiet.

  She waited, motionless, straining her ears for any hint of her guards returning.

  After an interminable pause, she heard stealthy footfalls coming across the entrance hall. One set. No, two. Or was it three? It was hard to tell.

  They moved softly, then the moldy old Persian rug that covered part of the hardwood floor muffled their steps. Her hands shook, slick with sweat as she clutched the pistol.

  She closed her eyes to focus on her sense of hearing. She tried with all her might to determine who was out there by the way they walked. If it was her guards, then why didn’t they say anything?

  What if they were tracking Prometheans who had entered the house?
r />   Or, God, what if it was Azrael? Order agents?

  Blast it, she had to know. Unable to bear the suspense, she inched upward silently, cautiously, and ventured a peek over the back of the couch.

  Stiver!

  Terror spilled down her spine at what this might mean. But it was him, all right.

  She saw him clearly in the shaft of moonlight pouring in through the open front door. And the panic she’d been just barely holding back crashed through the barriers of her composure.

  Her mind went blank. Oh my God, what do I do?

  As though he could feel her gaze on him, he turned and spotted her at once. “Serena! There you are. Darling, hurry. Come with me. We have to go at once.”

  There was no point hiding anymore. She stood up slowly from behind the couch, her legs wobbly beneath her. But she set her reticule on the floor and tucked her hand behind her back, hiding the pistol behind the drape of her skirts.

  “Wh-what’s happened, my lord?” she asked with a gulp, trying to look innocent.

  “We’ve been most foully betrayed. Hurry!” He beckoned her impatiently and then held out his left hand to her. “I know you don’t understand any of this, but we must go at once. I’ll explain on the way. You have to trust me.”

  “But Azrael—”

  “Darling, I’m sorry to tell you Azrael’s been captured.”

  The moment he said it, she knew that he was lying. It was possible the Order had betrayed Azrael, but she doubted it.

  In the next heartbeat, she noticed the knife in his right hand.

  He’d been trying to hide it behind his leg—like father, like daughter, it seemed—but a moonbeam streaming in from the fanlight over the front door caught the silver of the hilt.

  The blade glistened with blood.

  The sight of it, along with his obvious lie about Azrael, jolted her wits back into operation after their momentary paralysis.

  All in a rush, she remembered what sort of man her real father was.

  The sense of kinship she felt toward him, along with his pleasant surface charm, sometimes blurred her awareness of how evil he was at his core.