“Rowan?” Michael leaned forward, instantly concerned.
“I think I know where we need to go next, and if I’m right”—he stood in one fluid motion—“then we’ll have our hands on our poisoner and be one step closer to finding out who’s been trying to destroy the Jaded.”
Chapter 28
It had been the longest night of her life. Waiting for his return this time was far worse than the evening Gayle had waited in the salon for him that first night. After her aunt had left, she’d gone to her room and given in to her tears.
He’d ended it, but not to the point of throwing her out. He’d offered to find her another position, but her pride was at war with her heart. She’d packed and repacked her bag, sorting and re-sorting her things until she’d lost count of her efforts. She tried to sleep and finally managed a few hours before habit woke her up in time for her daily duties.
After breakfast, Gayle kept watch for him on the ground floor. But after a while, her confidence wavered and she’d restlessly returned back up the stairs to the laboratory to walk about the worktables, wiping down the surfaces and aimlessly inspecting the glass vials and beakers on the shelves.
She refused to leave without speaking to Rowan one last time.
Finally, she passed the time transcribing his notes, marveling at the meticulous care and kindness of her beloved mentor. Every line reflected his character, and she felt stupid to have taken so long to really see it.
Aunt Jane had it all wrong. A man like this . . . Rowan couldn’t have known that he’d fathered a child before he left on that journey. If passion had overtaken them just before he departed, it would have been too early for her to show any signs of being with child. If he were concerned, he would have asked, and Charlotte might have assured him that she was fine—perhaps innocently unaware of her condition.
He’d have trusted her judgment. His research was important to him, and he’d have wanted to go urgently enough to accept her at her word.
It made sense to her. She knew what it was to be swept away by his touch, and she couldn’t blame Charlotte for succumbing—especially if she had the promise of marriage and no reason to doubt him. I know what it is to love Rowan West and to want to throw caution to the winds. If Cousin Charlotte did the same, I am the last one to cast blame!
Gayle wanted to believe the best of Rowan, and she knew from her own experience that he was noble and sincere enough to punish himself by accepting full responsibility for Charlotte’s death.
That was why he’d demonstrated such restraint in the carriage. He’d been down that road only to taste guilt and tragedy. He wasn’t going to put either one of us through it again.
As for their tangled relationship, she was determined to make it right.
He dismissed me. But he also said he loved me.
There has to be a way to make it right.
He’d bravely taken the brunt of the consequences of his actions. She realized that in comparison, her own less than forthright approach to her apprenticeship, to her goals, and even to him was far different. He’d challenged her to tell the truth, and she had.
Aunt Jane reacted just as I thought she might, but it wasn’t the end of the world. And if I’d been honest with her from the start, there might have been a happier outcome. But that’s something I’ll never know.
It doesn’t matter. When he returns, I’m going to promise never to lie again because I do truly want him to love me—and I don’t think he can if he can’t respect me.
The door opened, and Gayle turned with her heart in her throat, but it was Florence, bobbing a curtsy and coming in with an empty laundry basket. “I know it’s not Monday, but the house was . . . the schedule is a bit off, miss. I’ve come to see to your room, so don’t let me interrupt your work.”
Gayle nodded, wilting a little. “Thank you, Florence.” It was hard to believe that with all the commotion downstairs, the house had missed the dramatic changes and events swirling around them, but she took comfort in the unassuming return to routine that Florence’s cheerful announcement heralded.
She looked back at the last note she’d copied after Florence shut her bedroom door behind her for privacy.
A. Featherstone—for all the distractions of our latest invention of “overexcited blood,” may genuinely have nervous condition and suffer insomnia. Waiting to hear from L. W. regarding the new litter’s development but sure that canine solution is at hand!
“He’s going to give the woman a puppy for Christmas.” Gayle sighed. You truly are a hopelessly kindhearted man—so how is it that I could have been so cruel?
“You work too hard.” Peter James’s voice interrupted her as he entered the room, moving with his usual familiarity and ease. “But there’s no surprise, is there?”
“You’re back! I mean . . . so soon.”
“After I checked his supplies, I noted that Dr. West was short on a few things.” He held up a small brown paper-wrapped package. “See?”
“Oh! Of course.” She managed a weak smile. If one more person comes in that door and isn’t Rowan, I think I’m going to faint. “Here, I’ll just take it and put everything away.”
“No need, no—”
He was interrupted as the bell rang, jingling merrily on the wall, and they both looked over to note it. Gayle bit her lip in confusion as it was the bell that heralded Rowan’s departure. But how was that possible? I’ve been waiting for his return! I must have missed it in the night, packing in my room and wailing like a child.
He recovered with a smile. “No need.”
“Please.” She reached for the package, gently trying to take it from him. “I need to stay busy and it’s no trouble to—”
“No!” He jerked it out of her hands, and they both froze in shock at the force of his outburst and at the sight of the brown paper box hitting the ground between them only to fall open. “It’s . . . I’m meant to put it away,” he finished lamely.
Gayle was afraid to bend down to get it but was also beginning to feel a miserable awareness of how weightless the package had seemed when she’d held it briefly and how strange Mr. James’s eyes appeared. She looked down, and a single glance confirmed that it was nothing more than folded paper, an empty shell. “I-I didn’t mean to interfere.”
He knelt quickly, gathering it up. “It was stupid of me. But I see the good doctor’s just setting out. I expected it would be a busy day and I only wanted to see you again.” He stood, putting the paper in his pocket. “A foolish ruse, Miss Renshaw. I apologize for it, but when I thought about what I’d said the other day, I worried I’d stepped off the path a bit too quickly.”
Gayle felt a rush of awkward misery flood her stomach. Please don’t make me say it directly, Peter. You’ve been such a good friend. I don’t want to hurt your feelings! “Mr. James, you’ve troubled yourself over nothing. But I truly don’t want Dr. West to misunderstand your presence here and—”
“It doesn’t matter what he thinks. I meant to say as much the other day, but you do have a way of distracting a man, Miss Renshaw. I got so busy trying to demonstrate my good manners, deferring to employers and all that, but that’s easy enough when you know the problem is about to solve itself.”
“W-what problem?”
“You want to make more of yourself. I understand that, because we’re cut from the same cloth, you and I.” He took a step toward her. “You don’t have to wait for your future, Miss Renshaw. We could walk out of this house together right now. I have money enough now for my apothecary shop, and I won’t mind one bit if you’d like to set up your own little medical practice! It can only enhance my business to have a good midwife on hand, you see?”
“Mr. James!”
“Come with me. You don’t need these arrogant London pricks to tell you your worth. I knew the first time I saw you that you were a treasure that a man would be a fool to overlook!”
Gayle took a deep breath, her heart pounding in alarm as his language and manners became more a
nd more coarse as he spoke. “I’m flattered, but I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. James. I have no desire to leave—”
“I know how it must be.” He cut her off, pacing a bit and wringing his hands. “It’s sudden, this. And I haven’t been able to spend the time I wanted . . . I’d have courted you properly if there’d been time! If West had allowed it! Fitzroy thinks I’m his dog, fetching this and delivering that—grateful for whatever crumbs he throws me. He pays pennies and then talks to me like I’m a fool!”
“I’m sorry. But you cannot think that I—”
“You defend Dr. West and deny it, but I know he’s the same to you. And probably worse. Keeping you locked in like a prisoner slaving away for him and doing his best to keep me away from you. But we don’t need them. Not any of them. We’re not servants to lick their boots. I have three thousand pounds set aside now! Enough to open up my own storefront in a sweet little village somewhere. What do you think?”
“I think you’re mad, Mr. James.”
“You know I care for you, Miss Renshaw. I’m sure I’ve made that clear in my letter. And even with him dictating your response, I knew you felt the same for me.”
“Where did you get three thousand pounds?”
His gaze darted away for an instant to study his shoes before he looked back at her, his eyes glittering with malice. “It doesn’t matter! I have it and it’s mine.”
Three thousand pounds. Not a fortune exactly, but money enough to turn a greedy, ambitious young man’s head. Enough to give him a start in some small venture and play on his dreams of being his own man. And who pays such a sum? For what deed?
Poison.
He had access and knew of Rowan’s friends. . . .
He must have seen it in her face. “Don’t think to tell him. You’ve no proof of anything. You’re speculating now. I can see it in those pretty eyes the way your keen mind is trying to fit all the pieces together.”
“Someone paid you three thousand pounds to poison Dr. West’s friends. To what end?”
“Why would I ask the man, Gayle? It’s nothing to me! Whatever the Jaded have done to deserve their fate, it’s naught to do with my life. A bunch of rich blades who don’t care anything about anyone but themselves, I’ll warrant!”
“You said you liked Blackwell! You spoke so highly of him!”
Peter’s face reddened, his expression getting tight and uncomfortable. “I may have admired his horses or envied him his conquests, but it’s not like he’s pulling up a chair at my dinner table, is he?” He kicked the table in frustration, the glassware rattling and breaking to make her jump. “It wasn’t my choice to put him first on the list, Gayle! But as it didn’t exactly go as planned, I’ve set it up so that the way is clear for us to go. No one will look in my direction, miss. Your doctor’s on the blocks next and you’re free to leave with me as you like.”
“My doctor? What are you saying?”
“There’s talk of poisoning, Gayle. I had no choice. And then I realized I’d solve both of our dilemmas in one step. You aren’t a slave to be treated like his property, and I knew you’d be glad to see him gone.”
“W-what? What have you done to Rowan?”
“Let’s just say that the next time the man has a headache, he’ll never then have one thereafter. I thought to find the house already draped in black, but these things require patience. He’s gone out on another call, so it’s only a matter of hours, I’d say.” Peter took a step closer, his expression calm, as if he’d gladly solved all her problems. “Don’t think on it another minute. Come away with me. It’s happiness I’m offering you, Gayle.”
Nausea seized her at the threat to Rowan, her memory replaying every furrowed brow and hand through his hair while they’d fought, horrified to think that he might already be gone.... And I’ve indirectly led to his death!
She forced herself to breathe, doing her best to match Peter’s strange calm so that she could think of a way to stall him or ring for Carter and get help. She consciously didn’t look at her own door, all too aware that Florence was probably huddled in terror on the other side.
It was a nightmare.
“Dr. West is . . . a good man, Mr. James. You’ve been put in a terrible position by this person and you need an ally. Peter, you have to tell him what you’ve done. They . . . Rowan’s friends are determined to find out who is trying to hurt them. You can’t—”
“I’m not telling them anything! And you won’t, either! I changed the records to make sure it looked like all the poisons were ordered by West. If you push and the police come looking, it’ll be your Dr. West who appears to have dirty hands.”
“No!”
“And either he’s already dead and it looks like he killed himself from the guilt of poisoning his friends, or he’s walking about, and then you mark my words, he’ll blame you when they come with a warrant for his arrest. West will point his finger at his new apprentice—so inexperienced and eager, he’ll say, a woman too overwhelmed to keep track of the formulas or impatient with her progress and striking out against his patients to have her revenge.”
“He would never do that! He’s a compassionate person, and if you’re in trouble with these people that have paid you—forced you to do this thing—he’ll help you!”
“What trouble? I’m paid and it’s done! No one even died at Blackwell’s, so where’s the crime, Miss Renshaw? And if West is gone, then there’s no one to say a word.”
“And what would they say if I’d shared my headache remedy, Mr. James?” Rowan’s voice from the doorway wheeled Peter around, his expression twisting into the snarl of a trapped animal. He grabbed Gayle to viciously hold her in front of him, and picked up one of the largest shards of glass to press it against her throat.
“They’ll say . . . you’re running mad, Dr. West.”
Rowan froze instantly, his eyes locked on only Peter James. “The packet’s source seems obvious enough. They’ll call you a murderer, because that’s what you are.”
“I haven’t killed anyone!” Peter shook his head vehemently. “If you gave it to a patient, I’d accuse you of burking to please your pretty little apprentice and that would be all the papers would print, Dr. West! You’d need a body or two for her to practice, and there’s not a school in the British Isles to give you one, so who’s to say that Dr. Rowan West didn’t lose sight of his ethics and poison his nearest and dearest in some twisted act of devotion? But you couldn’t have given it to anyone! You wouldn’t be standing there if you had!”
“Why not let Miss Renshaw go? She’s naught to do with this—not really. You don’t want to hurt her. She’s fond of you, Mr. James.”
“You don’t deserve her! Locking her up here!” Peter’s grip tightened on the glass as the blood from his cut fingers began to flow. Gayle was forced to hang on to his arm to keep herself upright and away from the razor-sharp edge underneath her chin. “I’m a better man than you are,” James finished, the arm around her ribs squeezing her so possessively she struggled to breathe.
Rowan held as still as a statue. “You’re a clever man, Mr. James. Imaginative and creative for a murderer.”
“No one has died from any of it! Stop saying that word!”
“You’re threatening to cut a young woman’s throat, Peter. And I hate to correct you, but someone has died, so that’s murder, isn’t it?”
“No! I made the delivery to Blackwell’s, but don’t think I wasn’t relieved when I heard that the missus had recovered. Besides, the papers would have shouted it from every rooftop if one of your precious peers had been poisoned and died!”
“Someone did die at Blackwell’s, Peter.” Rowan’s voice was calm and level, and he shifted his weight ever so slightly onto the balls of his feet. “You killed an unborn child. Mrs. Blackwell was pregnant and she miscarried because of the poison you gave her. You murdered an innocent soul, Mr. James.”
“No!”
“That’s a stain on your soul you’ll never wipe away. Hell awai
ts men like you, Mr. James,” Rowan went on relentlessly, deliberately trying to upset the man and gain whatever advantage could be had.
“I’m . . . No innocents were to die! I was told . . .”
“What were you told, Mr. James?” Rowan asked softly.
“I was promised that no one who didn’t deserve . . . Oh, God! What have I done?”
Gayle whimpered as the glass grazed her throat and Peter’s viselike grip began to pull her off her feet, but then it loosened as her assailant’s mind absorbed his guilt. Her heels began to kick out as she scrambled for purchase, and she feared that she was one slip away from the jagged point severing her artery. “R-Rowan!”
“Who?” Rowan asked, the intensity of his need to know was palpable as he moved another step closer, all too aware of Gayle’s dilemma. “Who said no innocents were to die? Who paid you to poison the Jaded?”
At the mention of the Jaded’s enemy and his unnamed employer, Peter’s eyes grew wide with alarm and Rowan sensed that some internal scale had just been tipped. “Gayle! Kneel!”
Rowan lunged for him just as Gayle dropped from Peter’s hands, kneeling on the floor and falling out of harm’s way. He caught Peter’s forearms and they fell together in tandem against the table, the crunch of glass and the grunt of effort the only sound as they fought.
Gayle crawled away only to turn back in horror as the gentle man that she’d known and loved was forced to battle with the maniac that had once posed as Peter James. Rowan couldn’t let go of Peter’s wrist as the younger man still clutched the treacherous daggerlike shard of glass, and for a few seconds, it was a contest of strength and will as each man tried to wrest control of the deadly edge.
Rowan released his hold on Peter’s shoulder, and without warning, swept his arm up to break Peter’s grip on him and struck Peter with the heel of his hand underneath the man’s chin. Almost simultaneously, he drove Peter’s hand down on the table, and the shard went skittering onto the floor where it broke into a hundred pieces. Peter screamed as the debris on the table’s surface was pressed into his flesh, and relaunched himself at Rowan—a man possessed.
Ecstasy Wears Emeralds Page 24
