A small smile played around the corners of Belle’s mouth. “And what is that?”
“I love her.”
“Then, why don’t you tell her?”
Rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, Jeremy could detect the slightest ache developing behind his temples. “She will not believe me. Not yet. I have to show her, first.” Then he lowered his arm and glanced to Elder. “I meant what I said about not having her join this organization. I can’t lose her now.”
The man inclined his head. “Worry not, Rogue. Lady Fielding will not be a Guardian.”
As the fog started to lift and Jeremy gained more control, he stood and stretched his stiff muscles. “One thing I can say about the potion, it’s powerful.” He reached for the vial and Belle handed it over. “Where did you get it?”
Belle nodded toward the door. “Evie got it from Lady Amersleigh.”
“I should have known,” he said, slipping the vial into his coat. “Not one word about my embarrassing admissions, either,” he added, realizing Dragon had already gone, then slipped out the door.
Racing up the steps, Jeremy knew he had to find Evie and try to explain. How much should he tell her? He slid back the latch on the secret door at the top of the stairs and watched it slowly move to the side, throwing a puff of white sand into the air. Listening for movement and hearing nothing, he left the shadowy entrance and stepped out into the museum.
Hoping to find Evie standing close, he glanced from one end of the dim room to the other and frowned. Where the deuce had she gone? Surely, she wouldn’t have left alone. It wasn’t safe, he thought, turning toward the doorway. Perhaps Dragon had gone with her. He listened for sounds of the two walking about but heard nothing. His heart picked up speed as he moved from one empty room to the next.
“Evie?” he called, then stopped to listen as the echo of his voice faded down the vacant corridors.
Coming to the unsettling conclusion she had left the building, he walked to the only unlocked door and slipped out into the darkness. The drizzle had eased into an annoying mist that clung to his hair and clothes. Jeremy ignored it as he glanced around the thick, tall columns and down the steps. Nothing moved in the misty air and all he heard was a door slam in the distance and the squeak of a carriage wheel somewhere down the road.
Then he realized the hack he had hired was gone. Making his way down the steps, he wondered if another hack would happen by soon. Then something near the bottom step caught his eye. What was that? He moved closer and sucked in a breath. Then he snatched up the Viper card from the ground.
His hand trembled as he stared at the silver coiled snake, then he turned the card over. His blood froze when he read Montague’s sweeping scrawl.
Did you think I would let her go that easily?
“What is it?” Belle asked, coming up behind him.
Wordlessly, he handed the card to her. “This cannot be,” she whispered, then glanced up with wide eyes. “What are we going to do?”
Hearing the clip-clop of horse hooves, Jeremy turned to see a coach moving toward them. “Elder told me about the man you captured,” he said, then glanced back at Belle.
She drew her brows and handed the card back to him, then gasp as understanding dawned. “You think he knows where Evie might be?”
Jeremy threw up his hand as the coach neared, hoping the driver would stop for him. “We must find out.”
The coach rattled to a halt and Jeremy recognized the Ashton coat of arms. He groaned as the door flew open and Ash hopped out, glancing around. “Fielding, where’s my sister?”
Jeremy started to say something when Belle came forward. “Ash, my dear, Evie is with friends this evening.” She latched onto his arm and led him back to his coach. “Will you be a dear and take us to Covent Garden?” Grinning over her shoulder, she added, “Lord Fielding has kindly agreed to take me to the theater tonight.”
Ash smiled down to his aunt. “Of course.”
They piled into the coach and turned south. Jeremy listened to Belle and Ash with only half an ear. His mind could only hold on to thoughts of Evie, his imagination exploring the most horrible scenarios. Men in black hoods…silver pentagrams…sharp knives…blood-filled chalices.
He bowed his head, wanting to rage at the injustice. It should have been him taken. He was the one who had wronged an innocent young girl. He slept with other men’s wives. He lied and cheated.
Evie was pure and innocent. She was truly good. She didn’t deserve any of this. Rubbing his temples with two fingers, Jeremy leaned back in his seat and listened to Belle entertain Ash with stories of him and Evie as small children. He nearly groaned out loud. Now, Ash was responding with stories of his own. He didn’t want to hear…
The familiar name had him looking up.
“…Thought that was the strangest name. Myran Millman. But Father nearly boxed my ears when we arrived at Windermere. Then I saw the poor dead baby and actually thought it was my fault for teasing him.”
Jeremy leaned forward. “I believe you are mistaken, Ash. Myran is the son of my mother’s young aunt, and he isn’t dead. In fact, he is at my house right now recovering. Remember, you thought it was me?”
Ash drew his brows and shook his head. “Father and I had come to your estate that day to see your two-day-old brother and the one born just that morning to your aunt. I may have only been seven years old, but I’ll never forget the visit. Walking up the steps, we heard shots fired. While father went to investigate, I sneaked away to take a peek at the babies.” The man dropped his gaze to his lap, his wide shoulders shaking. “One was blue and stiff. That is something you never forget.” He took a deep breath. “Your mother was there, trying to console a crying woman.” Glancing up, he shook his head. “It was not your mother holding the dead baby, sobbing that her sweet little Myran couldn’t really be gone.”
The coach came to a halt and Jeremy assisted Belle to the ground. They thanked Ash and he watched the shiny black vehicle roll away. People milled about, walking up to the theater, and Jeremy turned to Belle. “Where to?”
She raised a brow. “I half expected you to return and speak with your mother.”
He shook his head. “We must find Evie. Anything having to do with my family can wait. Besides, Ash is mistaken.” He cleared his throat, rarely speaking about this to anyone. “My mother had a son who died just after birth, not Aunt Winifred. I was away at Eaton at the time but remember when I came home for Christmas holiday two weeks later.” He nodded to Lady Langdon as she walked by, who gave a sultry half-smile in return. Then he glanced back down at Belle. “Where do we go?”
She nodded over at the carriages rolling away from the theater. “What street is this?”
“Bow Street,” he answered with a shrug, then understanding dawned and he rocked back on his heels. So, the Runners had the man. With a nod, he casually followed Belle along the front of the theater, then with a glance around to make sure no one watched them, turned down the side of the building. They came around to the back, where a large man stood guard before the door.
He jerked to attention, then relaxed when he recognized them. Pushing back his hat, he nodded and opened the door.
Jeremy followed Belle midway down the corridor, turned left and descended a set of narrow stone stairs to the lower level of the building. Several men greeted them as they walked to the far end of the room, where the cells were located. A lamp burned in the middle of a scarred oak table, where Mr. Wright sat reading the paper and holding a cup of tea.
Belle greeted the middle-aged man with a wide smile as he rose from his seat and fumbled with replacing the teacup in the saucer.
“We are here to question this man,” she said and motioned to the cell over her left shoulder.
Mr. Wright unclipped his keyring from his belt, shaking his head. “We have tried getting information from him, but he refuses to say one word. Some believe he is mute.”
Jeremy turned to the man sitting on a wooden stool in
the corner and knew that wasn’t the case. “His name is Bartholomew Morris and he can speak very well.”
Mr. Morris narrowed his eyes, but remained seated and silent.
Belle turned to Mr. Wright. “We will need some men to hold him down.” She nodded to Jeremy and he removed the vial from his pocket, then she lowered her voice. “Long enough to administer five drops.”
Mr. Wright nodded and gathered the men. He opened the cell and after a short scuffle, five Runners had Mr. Morris pinned firmly to the ground. Belle held out her hand. “Allow me,” she said.
With a nod, Jeremy handed over the vial. When one of the men held Mr. Morris’ mouth open, Belle stepped forward and administered five drops in between the man’s yellow, crooked teeth. Then she smiled, bent down and whispered something into his ear.
Jeremy folded his arms and watched, wondering if the man would spit the bitter liquid out. Instead, Mr. Morris swallowed, glancing up at Belle with wide, stunned eyes.
She backed out of the cell with a chuckle and handed the vial back to Jeremy.
Leaning over, he asked, “What did you tell him?”
“I told him the drops would kill him.”
Jeremy glanced down and raised his brow.
Belle shrugged as she watched the men place Mr. Morris back onto the stool and leave the cell. “I figured if the man was loyal enough to Viper, he would swallow. If not, he wouldn’t.” She sighed. “Either way, we would know how to go about questioning him.”
They waited until the man relaxed, slipping off the stool and landing on the stone floor with a thud. He lolled his head back, his eyes unfocused and large.
“Don’t tell me I looked like that,” Jeremy said with a frown as he followed Belle into the cell.
She grinned and shook her head. “You didn’t drool.”
Jeremy glanced over and found Mr. Morris raising his head as clear liquid poured from the corner of his mouth, right onto his dusty gray coat. “Thank God,” he whispered and crossed his arms. “Where is Montague?” he demanded.
The man drew his brows together, clearly fighting against having to answer the question, and opened his mouth. “Lord Skeffington’s hunting lodge.”
“Who is Viper?” Belle asked.
Morris moved his head from side to side. “I do not know. Only Lord Montague knows.”
“Why does Montague dress in a black robe and wear a pentagram?”
“His great-grandfather started a secret society where the members believe sacrifice gains them power and wealth.” Morris lifted his head and gave a twisted smile. “I can’t say it hasn’t worked.”
Jeremy glanced down to Belle and knew she had the same question. He looked back at Morris. “If Lord Montague were to recapture Lady Fielding, what would he do to her?” Obviously, the man had been here and wouldn’t know Evie had been taken. Jeremy watched closely as Morris scrunched up his face and thought about the question for several seconds.
“Lord Montague will kill her.” He rubbed his nose with a dirty sleeve. “It no longer matters to him if she is sacrificed in one of his rituals. Lord Montague wants the lady dead.”
Chapter 21
Evie glared at Lars and dared him to say one annoying word. Not only was she furious at the man for leaping into the coach as it pulled away from the museum, she was furious with herself for paying so little attention to her surroundings. She should have seen him coming and done something to keep him away from her. A solid kick to the lower region would have been Belle’s recommendation. But no, indeed. Her thoughts had been so preoccupied with Jeremy’s deception, she not only allowed Lars to enter the coach, she had allowed him to tie her up as well. The short, stout man was surprisingly strong and had subdued her in just a few short seconds.
She lowered her gaze to her lap, to the twine biting into her wrists and studied the knot. If she could just get the man to focus his attention elsewhere, she could loosen the binding and charge for the door. Raising her head, she watched Lars narrow his eyes and shake his head as though he could read her thoughts.
With a sigh, she turned to the window and watched beads of moisture collect on the pane of glass, then fall like tears, leaving behind tiny wet rivers. A thick mist hovered near the ground in the darkness and brought an icy chill to the damp air. She snuggled further into the borrowed wool coat, grateful for the small bit of comfort it brought. For several minutes, her mind conjured and dismissed ways to escape. Dozens of foolish or dangerous scenarios sprang forth, from launching herself through the glass panes, to rising up to kick Lars unconscious. None of them had any chance of success, and she grew more frustrated with every mile they traveled away from the museum.
After another quarter-hour of realizing she couldn’t escape with Lars watching her so intently, she turned to the man and gave a forceful sigh. “Where are you taking me?”
He said nothing as he reached into his coat and pulled out a knife.
Evie tensed until she watched Lars begin to clean his fingernails with the tip of the blade. She shifted on the seat, trying to stretch her cramped muscles. Going on long coach rides had never appealed to her. She did not like small areas and sitting in a cramped place for very long, not without making several stops along the way to stretch her legs.
“I know you are taking me to see Lord Montague.” She cleared her throat, trying to tamp back the shiver of disquiet at speaking those words. “Can you at least tell me when we will arrive?”
The coach dipped into some uneven ground and the flame of the lamp near the door flickered until the wheels found smoother road. Lars moved the knife to his other hand, not answering her question. Evie noticed one of his little fingers was missing down to the first joint, and a bloody bandage had been wrapped around the wound and tied across the back of his hand. “What happened to your finger?” she asked before she thought better of it.
Lars held up his right hand. “I displeased Lord Montague, is what happened. Now, quit asking questions, milady, because you won’t get any answers from me.”
Evie drew back, horrified. When she could find her voice, she said, “Goodness, that looks like it must have hurt a great deal. What did you do to deserve such punishment?”
Finishing his last nail, Lars shrugged. “Let you escape last time.” He glanced up, the flame flickering in his determined dark eyes, making him look even more menacing than ever before. “I won’t let that happen again, I can assure you.”
Evie snapped her mouth closed and glanced down to her bound hands. She had hoped she could convince Lars to let her go. That, perhaps, she could bribe him into turning the coach around. Now, she knew that would never happen. She would just have to wait for an opportunity to escape when they stopped for food or some other reason.
Hearing the man shift in his seat, Evie found Lars pulling out a stained handkerchief. He unwrapped the corners and cut off a piece of the smoked venison with the same knife he just used to clean his fingernails. Then he held out the meat to her. “Hungry?”
Evie shook her head and settled further back against the seat cushion. Her mind wandered back to Jeremy. He had come for her last time and helped her escape. Last time, however, he knew where she had gone. Then he had married her. Truly, lawfully married her. A betraying bolt of excited delight shot through her middle at the thought. And for a second, she considered the possibility he had done it for her and not out of duty to the Guardians. She blew out a breath, trying her best to sort it all out. Perhaps Jeremy had no choice. Perhaps the anvil priest refused to perform a fake ceremony and draw up fake documents.
What now? Evie rested her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes. She was suddenly exhausted. Having Jeremy truly marry her meant he could dictate where she could go and when. He might not allow her to return to France with Belle. What then? How could she live the rest of her life loving someone who did not love her back? How could she watch him go on missions while she stayed behind to embroider rosebuds or paint koi fish? How could she stand to know he had been
with a lover while she waited up for hours in a cold bed? Would he have merely been gleaning information or had it purely been for enjoyment? That would drive her mad.
She swallowed the hot lump that had risen up her throat and squeezed her eyes against the tears stinging their way to the surface. Evie could never, ever live that way. She didn’t think anything could be worse than what she had gone through the last six years.
She thought wrong.
Not long ago, Evie thought if she could just spend some time with Jeremy, he might realize she was what he had been looking for in a wife. That he would fall in love with her, stop his beguiling behavior with all the ladies, and act as all her friends’ husbands. Now, she had to realize this would never be the case. Jeremy was a Guardian whose first priority belonged to his missions. He might have married her, but they would never have a true marriage.
As Evie drifted off into a fitful sleep, she wondered if it even mattered. For, unless she escaped before Lars brought her to Lord Montague, she would not live long enough to learn why Jeremy really married her.
Something jarred her awake. Evie raised her head, wincing at the pain shooting though her neck, and focused on the scowling man shaking her shoulder. “You may stop that now. I am awake.”
Lars moved back and opened the door, then stepped down into the gray morning mist. Evie stared at the opening for several seconds, realizing they had traveled through the night and she had slept through any chance at making an escape. She couldn’t get her legs to move, not when Montague surely waited for her somewhere outside the coach.
After an impatient sigh, Lars stuck his head in. “Come, milady,” he grumbled, “or I’ll have to come in and get you out.”
Lord Rogue Page 21
