The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  She wiped her abraided, filthy hands on her skirt and nudged a loose cobblestone as she was trying to rise. She grabbed it and ran. The back door to the garden was huge and solid. Alistair slapped the door with the flat of his hands.

  "Damnation!"

  "Lift me up. I can go over the wall and try to get it open."

  "But what if it’s—

  We’ll deal with it in a minute. We have to try."

  He cupped his hand to take her little foot, then raised her slowly.

  "Higher."

  He put her foot on his shoulder, and with a little hop she propelled herself forward until her belly was resting on the top of the wall. "All right, I’ll going over."

  She slid down along some ivy, stinging her hands and tearing her nails, but at least she landed solidly on her booted feet. Within a few moments she was able to lift the heavy bar and swing the door open.

  Alistair was in like a shot and charged for the back door, which was locked.

  It had two glass panels, however, and Viola’s cobblestone came into play as she smashed one, then the other. They groped around for the key but there was none.

  "Smash the lock," Viola said urgently.

  Alistair bashed it with the stone and then threw all of his weight against the door.

  "Damn! Philip! Philip!"

  Fury and grief made him almost superhumanly strong. Alistair stormed down the path and snatched up the wrought iron loveseat just off the pebbled path. Viola threw herself out of the way as he ran up against the door, splintering the wood so that the centre of the door sagged.

  "Once more," she said, trying to help him get a better purchase on their makeshift battering ram.

  But flames were already tearing apart the curtains and whole back wall over their heads. The intense heat blasted the windows outwards a moment later, showering the garden with shredding hail as the windows blew to pieces.

  Viola grabbed Alistair and covered both their heads with her arms. She could feel the sharp prickles flaming into them both, and then hands around her waist lifting her.

  She was prepared to look into Alistair’s face, but it was George she found herself staring at. She blinked in astonishment.

  "Get in the carriage," he ordered in a tone which brooked no refusal.

  She glared at the tall, black-eyed man. "I’m not leaving—

  "I’ll get him. Go on, now."

  Alistair had hit his head on the edge of the seat, and been winded when Viola had thrown her full weight on him to drag him down to the ground.

  George lifted the gasping man and began to drag him by his collar and the seat of his trousers as if he weighed no more than a flea.

  "I can’t go. I need to help them! The babies, oh God, Jasmine. Philip! Philip!"

  He continued to struggle and roar all the way up the path, but George dragged him inexorably onwards. Finally Alistair began to put up a fight in earnest, whipping around to catch George a glancing blow on the side of the head.

  "You bastard, let me go! If they die because of you..."

  "They’re already gone!" George said. "You go in there, you’ll be throwing your life away for nothing."

  "I can’t leave them there to die!"

  "If the smoke doesn’t get them the flames will. You’re too late, Alistair, too late."

  "No! No! This is all my fault! Philip, Philip!"

  Viola tried to encourage Alistair to get into the carriage. At the last minute he broke free and started galloping through the garden once again.

  George gave Viola an exasperated look, and went after him once more. He spun him round, and with one neat punch knocked him unconscious.

  CHAPTER TEN

  George swung the unconscious Alistair up into his arms like a babe and got him into the carriage.

  Viola yanked and tugged at the barrister's clothes to position him on the seat more comfortably. "What did you do that for?"

  George looked at her coolly. "Would you rather I let him die in the burning building?" he asked in such a matter of fact tone she longed to slap the impassivity from his face.

  "What are you doing here anyway?"

  "I followed you."

  Her brows raised. "Followed us? There wasn’t any carriage in the street."

  "I went to his office, spotted you there, came around."

  "Into the mews? I think you’d better tell me another one, George, or I’m getting out of this carriage and running like hell."

  George quirked one brow in a manner she had always thought quite endearing but now found infuriating. "And you’ll leave Alistair to my not so tender mercies, when he’s wanted for murder and several people seem hell-bent on killing him?"

  She folded her arms and lapsed back into the seat with a sigh. "So just who are you really, George?"

  "You know who I am. Pimp, theatre owner. Crime lord. Nothing happens in Southwark that I don’t know about."

  Her green eyes narrowed. "Except that we’re in the northern part of the city. So how is it you know so much?"

  "I have eyes and ears all over the place," he said with a shrug.

  "Knowledge is power?"

  "Something like that," he said shortly.

  "Do you know where Sebastian is?"

  "Not yet," he admitted, "but I will soon, I promise."

  "And what are you going to do with us now?" Viola asked with a shiver.

  "Do with you?" He sounded genuinely astonished. "Why, take you back to The Three Bells, of course."

  "But what if—"

  "We’ll go the long way around, cross Westminster Bridge and get lost somewhere on the road into Surrey, then double back. They won’t follow us."

  "They know I assisted Alistair."

  "It can’t be helped now, lass. I told you to stay out of this. But no, you had to go after him and—"

  "I was not going to let him die. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s a good man. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I saw an entire house full of servants with their throats slit. I’m damned if I’m going to end up that way, or let Alistair or Sebastian either if I can help it. If you want me to leave The Three Bells because all of this is too hot for you, just say so now and—"

  "No. The Three Bells is the only place you’ll be safe for the time being. You’ll need to lay low, though. No one will get in or out without my say so. You’re not even to open the shutters unless I tell you it’s safe. Clear?"

  Her green eyes glashed fire. "And if I refuse to give in to your orders?"

  George shrugged. "Suit yourself, Viola. But I’ve never done anything to harm you. Sebastian would never have entrusted you to me if he thought I was out to hurt you in any way.

  "So it’s up to you. Do as you like. But if you stay at The Three Bells, you do things my way. You and the bloke."

  He scowled slightly. "And you’re going to have to share the secret room. At least for the time being. He’s too famous to run the risk of anyone spotting him. Especially with that silver hair."

  "All right. I don’t mind."

  Something sparked in George’s dark eyes, and a muscle worked in his jaw, but he remained silent, and fished a hip flask out of his pocket.

  "Brandy," he explained as she took it and was about to unscrew the top to sniff the contents suspiciously.

  "Thanks."

  It was good quality, so smooth that it slipped down like a pat of butter to warm her belly. She took a second sip, and was about to rub the opening of it clean with her sleeve when he let out a small mirthless laugh.

  "Don’t worry, love, I have no fear of catching anything from your lips, except She blushed and capped the silver bottle, then handed it back to him. Their fingers touched, but for Viola there was none of the spark that sizzled up her arm when she touched Alistair.

  So she was not a wanton after all. Alistair was really special to her in some indefinable way.

  She studied his face in repose. Handsome, certainly, but there was a great deal more to him than that. There had to be.
He was said to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors, who lived almost like a monk. No involvements, despite the numerous women who tried to catch his eye. He was certainly one of the most talked about men in the Ton.

  She had never imagined the hero of hundreds of headlines for the past five years who had won case after high profile case would now be with her in a carriage heading back to The Three Bells. Let alone kissing her, and now sharing a chamber with her.

  Well, it wasn’t such a problem. There was a trundle bed underneath the fine brass bedstead George had given her when she moved in. Sebastian had stayed with her in the past, stretching his huge frame into the double bed whilst she had taken the single cot. It was fine, nothing to be nervous about.

  After all, Alistair was unconscious now anyway. And he certainly didn’t look the type of man who would pounce and ravish her. He had kissed her, been candid about the way he felt about her looks, but surely he hadn’t thought he had anything to gain by it.

  She had little experience of men apart from her fiance, but she was fairly sure most of them didn’t make personal remarks with any intent to seduce whilst perched on a six-inch ledge atop a roof. The thought of him admiring her warmed her belly as much as the brandy. Rather lower in fact. She could feel herself pulsating below in a most peculiar place.

  Her breath caught as Alistair opened his eyes briefly.

  "One of these days, Davenant, I’m going to bloody well kill you."

  What passed for George’s smile was the pulling of his lips into a completely straight line. "Many’s the time I heard that before. You’re welcome to try, after we find Sebastian and get to the bottom of all this. For now, listen to me.

  "When we get back I’ll take you into the baths and fetch the servant for some clothes for you both. You are not to speak to anyone. If you happen to run into anybody, hide your faces. There’s going to be a bounty on your head by tomorrow morning, you mark my words. You too, if I had to guess, Viola."

  "Me?" she squeaked. "But what—"

  "Arson will be my best guess, though which house they cite will be interesting. My bet is it will be that last one and there won’t be a single mention of Alistair’s house or chambers going up."

  "But that’s, that’s not possible," the barrister protested.

  George fixed him with a daggerlike stare. "Don’t you get the picture, Grant? These people can do as they like with impunity."

  "But who in God’s name are they? And how the hell do you know so much about—"

  "I make it my business to know. No one tries to encroach on Davenant territory without getting his knees broken. Or worse."

  "But I’ve always been a law-abiding—"

  George appeared almost amused. "You’re one of the most dangerous men in England if you did but know it."

  For a moment Viola stared at the alteration in her friend’s appearance. Friend? Enemy?

  Alistair looked nonplussed, and sat up in the seat with a groan. "Dangerous? Me? How?"

  "Intelligent, rich, principled. Incorruptible. If they can’t buy and sell you, they need to kill you."

  "But I haven’t done anything!"

  "Yet. That’s why they’re trying to stop you."

  "Stop me from what? You’re talking in riddles. So why don't you just tell me--"

  George shook his head. "I can't—"

  "You mean you won't," Alistair accused.

  "Aye, that too, but I do mean I can't. I don’t have all the answers. At least not yet. Only the people trying to kill you do. The ones who also set fire to your assistant's house."

  At the reminder of what he had just seen, he felt his stomach lurch."

  "So you need to go back to The Three Bells, regroup. Sift through what you know, what you think you know. And above all, don’t trust anyone. Don’t try to contact anyone—"

  "But my job, my friends—"

  "No one! Philip Marshall is gone. Do you want to bring down the wrath of these bastards on the rest of your associates too?"

  Alistair sighed at the thought of harming any of the other Rakehells and their families. "No, I surely don’t. I can’t believe—" He sighed shakily, still numb. "We can’t be sure they’re dead. They might have got out..." His voice trailed away with recollected horror.

  George said brutally, "You saw what happened. The house blew apart like it had been hit by a cannon. Those poor little maids trying to escape from the front window would have got shredded. And anyone else still left in the house."

  Viola hissed, "George, for God's sake, that’s enough! Can’t you see he’s at the end of his tether! Give me that brandy."

  She held out her hand imperiously, and snatched the flask from him. She made Alistair drink, and drink again.

  "I’m so sorry," she murmured, helping him hold the flagon to his lips. He was trembling so badly he could barely manage to keep hold of it, let alone find his mouth.

  "I’ll go back tomorrow. See what’s left in the ashes. I need to be sure they will get a decent burial, and there’s the family and the Rakehells..."

  George shook his head impatiently. "Don’t you understand? You’re on the run. Both of you. The Marshalls are dead. If you don’t want to join them, then I suggest you lie low and leave things to me."

  Alistair rasped, "I’ve never even met you before tonight. You’re a pimp, murderer and God knows what else. And now you want me to trust you?"

  George’s eyes glittered. He looked almost as though he were enjoying himself. "Who better? I have all the power now. You none. You want my help, you can have it. There will be a price, of course. Somewhere down the line when you’re able to pay me back."

  "What price? Money? My blood?" Alistair demanded with a sneer.

  The shadowy brothel owner shrugged one shoulder. "I’ll see. It will depend on what I need at the time, for myself or my colleagues."

  Alistair moved toward the carriage door now. "Go to hell."

  "‘This is hell, nor am I out of it.’"

  Alistair looked at him in surprise. "Dr. Faustus. Mephistopheles says it."

  "Such a gloomy play. Not one of the better successes at The New Rose."

  "I’m surprised you would even bother to perform—" Alistair stared at him. "So I’m selling my soul to the devil?"

  "Faustus got twenty-four years of unalloyed power and pleasure. Not such a bad bargain, was it?"

  "And how long will I have?" Alistair sighed and shook his head. "No, given a choice between twenty-four years versus eternal perdition, I think I’ll stick to the straight and narrow."

  George folded his arms and settled into his seat more comfortably. "So would many another man in your shoes. But you haven’t got that luxury, Grant. Sure, if you want to get out of this carriage, I can’t stop you. But Viola here won’t be going with you."

  "I jolly well will," she said, switching seats to sit next to Alistair and sliding over close to his side.

  "No, you won’t, because Alistair won’t take you with him. Not if he’s any sort of a gentleman. Because he knows he can’t keep you safe. I can.

  "And never mind twenty-four years. You’ll be lucky if you last twenty-four hours out on the streets by yourself. But it’s up to you, Grant." George sat back and crossed his legs, indicating the conversation was at an end.

  Viola looked from one handsome face to the other. One man as black as night, one as silver as the moon... "Alistair, don’t let him bully us—"

  He turned to her, and allowed himself to stroke her peachy cheek. "I’m sorry, Viola. He’s right. Sebastian said to keep you safe. He sent me to you for a reason. I think it might even have been to keep me safe. No, we don’t trust George, but he could have harmed us at any time. And whilst he has no reason to help me, he seems to care about you and your brother.

  "So I’m prepared to take my chances. We’ll go back to The Three Bells, sort out what we know, and try to find a trail of clues amid the dead bodies and ashes. But for now, just give me another slug of that brandy."

  Viola
stared in alarm as he upended the silver flask, but when she would have remonstrated, George gave an unobtrusive shake of the head. She let him finish it without a word of complaint.

  She curled up into Alistair’s warm hard side, and he put his arm around her, drew her close and rested his head on Viola’s as the horses clopped on into the night.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN