“I fear I cannot share the details of my plan with you. Your heart is too soft to see the necessity of the end result.”
“In other words, you believe the harm you’re causing will be justified in the end.” She didn’t frame it as a question, for she could tell it was what he thought.
“I prefer to think of it as progress.”
“How can you call killing innocent people ‘progress’?”
“Please, Emma, you must understand.” He stepped closer to reach out and take her arm, squeezing it tight. Painfully so. “This is not simply for my benefit. This is for all of England.”
Fear crept down her spine, both from the tightness of his grip and the fervor in his voice.
“Release her.” Michael’s voice cut through the darkness, causing Emma to catch her breath.
“Weston. Delighted you could join us. I wondered when you might follow her out here. Do you have a tendre for my niece?”
“Release her.” Michael stepped forward, anger in every line of his body, his voice quiet but deadly.
Her uncle continued to hold her tight. Michael did not even look at her. Pain seared through her. Oh, dear Lord. Had this been Michael’s intent all along? To use her to capture her uncle? Her heart twisted at the thought.
~*~
Michael glanced at Emma to make certain she was unharmed. The sight of the professor holding her chilled him to the bone. While not completely surprised she had met her uncle without his knowledge, he was still disappointed. Obviously, she did not trust him enough to share this. That wounded him straight through his heart.
He desperately wanted to jerk Emma away from her uncle and take her somewhere safe. And never let her go. For the moment, he’d have to be satisfied with trying to put himself between her and Grisby.
“Release her,” he demanded again.
Grisby dipped his head and did as he asked.
“I can hardly believe it.” Michael shook his head, amazed at the sight of the professor standing before him. “You truly live.”
“Indeed, but you already knew that,” her uncle admonished. “Do not state the obvious, Michael.”
“Forgive me, but I found it rather difficult to believe. You had no pulse when I last saw you. Nor much of a face either.”
Michael heard Emma gasp at his words. While he hadn’t meant to be cruel, he felt it had to be said.
The professor gestured toward the hood of his cloak. “True enough. I won’t burden you with the result, but let us say most people find it less than appealing.”
“Your appearance is not my concern. Your activities are.” Michael studied him closely but could see no evidence of an aura. Whether the hood somehow obscured it or he simply couldn’t read it, he wasn’t sure. In this case, an aura wouldn’t help. The man had to be stopped based on what they knew thus far.
“I’m pleased you broached that subject, for ’tis one I’ve wanted to discuss with you.”
“Then you’re willing to stop your experiments on people?”
Again, that raspy chuckle sounded. His voice must’ve been damaged along with his face.
“Collateral damage is sometimes a necessary part of progress. You are forward thinking enough to realize that.”
“Oh, my God,” Emma exclaimed.
“Perhaps if you’d care to share your plan, we could then discuss whether it’s worthy of such a high cost as someone’s life.”
“I would not only share it but ask for your help. It will be like old times to have us working together again. Is it true? Can you and Stephen see auras?”
Shocked, Michael said nothing. How had he come to know that? Deciding it might provide a method to keep him talking, he nodded. “Can you?”
“No. I fear that was not given to me. At times, it must be quite helpful. Lucas will soon return and then we can form our plan.”
Michael stiffened at the mention of his friend. “I have to wonder at the coincidence of Lord Berkmond being murdered.”
“Surely you know there are no coincidences in life.”
Anger ripped through Michael. “You murdered Lord Berkmond with the sole purpose of forcing Lucas to return to England?”
Emma gasped at this news.
“He wasn’t coming back on his own, now was he?” The hooded form shook his head. “You must think ahead, Michael.”
“What is it you intend to do?” He couldn’t begin to guess.
“I intend to restore power and dignity to the Empire. Our country has become weak over the last decade. We need to reestablish ourselves as the strongest country in the world.”
“And how do you propose we do so?” While the professor had always been interested in national events, Michael had no idea the man had been so concerned over how England fared in the global view.
“We must have the most powerful weapon. One that will ensure no one questions us. With England so powerful, no one will dare to wage war against us. In the end, the world will know peace as it has never known before.”
“By using electromagnetism as some sort of weapon?” Michael wanted to learn as much about the professor’s plans as possible before he captured him.
“Of course. The power of such devices will win any war in which we become involved.”
“How many people do you intend to kill at one time?” Emma asked, the derision in her voice clear.
Did the woman not realize the danger she was in? Michael was certain her uncle would not hesitate to hurt her in his quest. He already had by disappearing for the last decade. Michael frowned at her and motioned for her to step back, out of her uncle’s reach, hoping she’d understand Michael’s wish to keep her safe.
But no. She only glared at him in response.
“I would prefer no one had to die, but that is not always possible. Not in the real world. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”
“Who are you to decide what the greater good is or who should be sacrificed?” she asked.
Michael wanted to tell Emma they needed to go along with her uncle so he could catch him unawares, but in her anger, she didn’t look at Michael.
Again, that raspy chuckle sounded. “I have a vision that I would be happy to share with others, beginning with the two of you. Together, we can do tremendous things.”
“Does your machine heal the sick? Does it provide food for those who have none? Will it build shelters that are warm and safe? Why don’t you put your abilities to good use? Instead of worrying about England’s power, you should assist those who live in this city.” Her outrage caused her voice to tremble.
“Emma, you have always been such a practical sort. However, I cannot be burdened with such mundane matters.”
Emma leaned forward, making Michael wonder if she intended to strike her uncle, or at least attempt to shake some sense into him. “We were starving. Tessa was sick. We had no safe place to sleep. How dare you call such things mundane!”
Michael’s heart squeezed with sadness and guilt. Thank God the woman had been clever enough to survive and provide for her family. Her strength was amazing and currently visible in every line of her body. He gestured again for her to step back, wanting more than ever to keep her safe.
“Each individual sets their own destiny just as you have done,” her uncle said. “Times of difficulty make us stronger. Look at you now.”
Before Emma could launch herself at her uncle, Michael placed his hand on her arm. “Let us ask Emma to find Ashbury. Then he and I can discuss this with you.” More than anything, he wanted Emma away from here and out of danger so he could capture Grisby. The man had to be stopped.
“Emma cannot leave us. She may be my niece, but I don’t believe she sees the wisdom of my plan quite yet. Is that right, my dear?”
“No, I can’t say that I do.”
Michael eased forward, trying to place himself between Emma and her uncle.
“Come no closer, Michael.” The professor stepped back to withdraw a pistol from the depths of his cloak. Mich
ael stilled. “You must earn my trust.”
“Uncle, no!” Emma cried out.
“How can I when you haven’t yet told me of your plan in full?” The professor wielding a weapon was not something he’d planned on, especially not when its aim switched between him and Emma. The thought of her being hurt stole his breath. He moved in front of her despite her protest. “Let her go, and we’ll discuss this.”
“No. I—”
Michael lunged forward, needing no further urging to bring this to an end before Emma was hurt. He shifted forward and quickly raised his hand, hoping to jar the professor’s grip on the pistol.
Boom! The shot cut through the night air.
“No!” Emma’s cry came from beside him.
He glanced toward her, praying she hadn’t been struck. Her eyes were wide with horror as she stared at him, and he feared the worst. Then a searing pain tore through his upper arm. He looked down in surprise. The tear in his jacket marked the burning pain. “Christ.”
“Michael!” Emma cried. She rushed closer, putting herself in more danger.
“Stay back.” He turned to see what the professor was doing, whether he carried another pistol, but where he’d stood was nothing but smoke from the gun. “Where did he go?”
“Weston?” Ashbury’s voice rang out. “What in hell is going on out here? I heard a shot.”
Unwilling to leave Emma unprotected, he called out, “Come quickly. The professor was here.”
Ashbury rushed toward them and caught sight of Michael’s bleeding arm. “He shot you?”
“’Tis only a flesh wound. Let us see if we can find him. He can’t have gone far.”
Ashbury was out of sight before Michael could say another word.
“Do you have a handkerchief?” she asked. “We need something with which to bind this wound.”
He handed her the thin white linen from his pocket, and she quickly bound his arm. “Will you be all right if I assist Ashbury in the search?” he asked.
“Yes, of course.”
There was something closed off in her expression. He could see it in the set of her lips, in the way she avoided looking him in the eye. That worried him far more than his wound. He wanted to discover the cause, but first he needed to search for the professor. They couldn’t lose him when he’d been so close.
“Wait inside with your mother for me, will you? I want you to stay safe.”
“My mother!” Eyes wide with fear, she gave him a brief nod and hurried toward the door to the ballroom.
The moment she left, his arm burned like hell. Ignoring the sensation, he moved into the darkness of the garden, searching for hiding spots as he went. In truth, it was an impossible task. The shadows were deep, the bushes and trees many. The garden held more twists and turns than any garden should.
He heard a muffled sound a short distance away and held still, hoping he’d found their quarry.
“Weston?”
Ashbury’s whispered voice had him sighing in frustration. “Aye. No luck?”
“None, but it’s impossible to find anything in this place.”
“The Sampsons are quite regarded for their extensive gardens.”
“Just our luck.”
“The man walks with a limp. How far can he have gone?”
The clip clop of hooves and the angry call of a driver had them rushing toward the street to see a hackney fading out of sight.
“Damn,” Ashbury said. “What did he say? Was it truly him?”
Michael shared all he’d heard but suggested they speak with Emma. “She may know more. I’m not certain how long she was out here with him by herself.”
“Why was she meeting him alone?”
Michael’s heart squeezed at the reminder. To think he had yet to win her trust made him doubt whether she truly loved him. “That is an excellent question and one I intend to ask.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Emma returned to the ballroom, intent on finding her mother and the viscountess. Relief filled her at the sight of them unharmed. Luckily, very few people seemed to have heard the gun shot or if they had, hadn’t realized what it was.
“Emma, whatever is the matter?” her mother asked after one look at her.
“What is it?” Abigail hooked her arm though Emma’s in a show of support.
She couldn’t help the tears that filled her eyes. Her worry over Michael made it difficult to speak. “I’m afraid we must leave. Michael and Lord Ashbury await us outside.” At least she hoped they did. “I’ll explain everything once we have some privacy.”
The viscountess patted her arm then turned to lead the way to the entrance, acting as though nothing was wrong. Emma followed with her mother and Abigail, dreading the news she’d have to share.
As they neared the entrance, a footman stepped forward to show them to their carriage. Michael and Lord Ashbury were there, but not her uncle. She looked in question to Michael who shook his head, indicating they hadn’t caught him. The tightness around Michael’s eyes told her how much pain he was in, but he waved away her concern.
As the carriage rumbled toward Viscountess Weston’s, Emma shared the news of her uncle with her mother. It was a conversation that could not be had quickly. Her mother’s shock was understandable. The viscountess knew some of the story, so she offered comfort to Emma’s mother as well.
Her mother’s tears made Emma want to cry as well. Seeing her uncle had been such a jolt. Thinking he might be alive was one thing but actually seeing him was another. Yet in many ways, he wasn’t her uncle at all. His voice hadn’t sounded quite right but it had been his words that disturbed her the most. He’d changed so much. Too much.
“You’re quite certain?” her mother asked yet again. “There has to be some mistake.”
“I thought the same, Mother.”
Michael leaned forward to take her mother’s hand with his uninjured one. “I’m terribly sorry you had to learn it this way. We had suspicions before but didn’t feel we could share them until we confirmed it for ourselves.”
Her mother’s brown eyes were filled with tears as she stared at Michael. “I’m so sorry he shot you.”
“Merely a flesh wound and you have nothing for which to apologize.” Michael squeezed her hand. “I can only imagine how you must feel upon hearing all of this.”
Emma’s mind spun the question toward her own rolling emotions. Somehow, she didn’t think Michael understood how she felt. Did he realize that doubt had once again taken hold? She couldn’t help but wonder if his affection toward her had only been a part of his plan until he was able to lure out her uncle. Now that he had, would he tell her the truth? That she was merely a pawn in this game they played?
She felt him watching her but couldn’t bring herself to return his look, too frightened of what she might see there. No wonder he hadn’t been able to tell her how he’d felt—because he only held sympathy for her, nothing more. This would be one more event in her life that she had to attempt to survive. She only wished she hadn’t fallen for him so hard, for he’d captured her heart.
They gathered in the drawing room upon their arrival at the viscountess’s home. Lord Ashbury and Abigail joined them as well. Viscountess Weston insisted the housekeeper dress Michael’s wound. Soon after, they all took turns sharing what they knew. Luckily, all the commotion didn’t seem to have woken Tessa or Patrick.
Emma moved to the side table to pour her mother a glass of sherry and sensed Michael’s presence close beside her, the heat of his body warming her.
“I don’t know what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours, but I would very much like to know.”
She closed her eyes as a wave of pain surged through her. Then she berated herself. The man had been shot while attempting to protect her, and she couldn’t be bothered to look at him? She owed him her gratitude at the very least. She would sort out his true purpose later, when she was stronger. Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes and turned to face him.
T
he intense look in his blue eyes was nothing like she’d anticipated, and certainly nothing like she’d ever seen before. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes filled with more tears at the love she saw there. The hope that rose inside her frightened her with its magnitude.
He took her hand in his. “Emma, I feared I might lose you. When I saw that gun—” He shook his head as his voice trembled. “I don’t ever want to feel that way again.”
“I can hardly believe he pointed it at either of us.” She swallowed hard and tried to gather the courage to ask what was on her mind. Better that she know the truth now. “I must ask, did you—”
He put his finger on her lips before she could say more. “Wait, please. There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all evening.” Despite his injury and ignoring the others standing nearby, he drew her into his arms and kissed her deeply, passionately.
The room spun until there was no one but him. Only Michael. Her heart leapt, filling with love and something more than merely hope.
“Michael!” His grandmother’s voice cut through the fog surrounding Emma, reminding her of their audience. “You forget yourself.”
“Bravo, Weston,” Lord Ashbury called out.
Emma pulled back, her cheeks warm with embarrassment.
But Michael didn’t release her. Instead, he shifted them to face the others in the room. “Emma?”
Her heart pounded as she looked up at him, uncertain what he intended. Surely he of all people wouldn’t make a public display.
“I love you with all my heart. Will you be my wife?”
Shock rooted her to the spot for a brief moment. Then joy took over. “Yes!” She flung herself into his arms, all doubts erased as to whether he cared for her, whether she truly belonged here. Now she knew the truth—she belonged in his arms.
He held her tight and kissed her, ignoring the gasps of the people in the room. Then they were surrounded. Everyone congratulated them between hugs and kisses and pats on the back. Through all of the chaos of the moment, Michael held tight to her hand, refusing to release her.
“Emma.” Her mother’s soft spoken voice caught Emma’s full attention. “I don’t have to ask whether this makes you happy.”
Passionate Secrets (The Secrets Trilogy Book 2) Page 28
