“His employer?” Benedict’s jaw firmed with tension. “A rather civilized term for a jackal who’s hired a killer.”
“I cannot say I disagree,” Jennie said.
“He’s indicated he is willing to talk,” Colton said, his tone somber.
Benedict shoved the book he’d been examining aside and rose from his seat. “Then let us be done with it.”
“It’s not that simple. Rooney says he’ll speak only to Alexandra.”
She gasped. “To me?”
Matthew nodded. “He insists he will carry his secret to the grave if anyone else is within his sight.”
“What you are proposing is out of the question,” Benedict protested. “You cannot expect Alexandra to subject herself to that bastard’s evil.”
“She will be well-protected. There is no chance of harm,” Matthew said coolly.
“Have you gone mad? The man tried to kill her.” Flint edged Benedict’s words “I will not allow you to put her in that position.”
The protectiveness in his voice pleased her beyond reason, but she could not allow this debate between the men to continue.
She slanted Benedict a glance as she summoned a confident tone. “Really, now—must I remind you both that I can speak for myself? I cannot see that listening to what the man has to say poses any concern for my safety. Believe me when I say I have no qualms about seeing that horrible man again. I rather look forward to showing him that he has not intimidated me.”
“I do understand, Alex. But I rather agree with Marlsbrook.” Jennie wove her fingers together, as she tended to do when she was upset. “Meeting that cur’s demand goes against my instincts.”
“The prospect does leave a foul taste in one’s mouth,” Matthew said, his tones calm and quiet. “But every scrap of information we can get is valuable. If meeting the rotter’s terms will speed the process, it makes sense.”
“Respectfully, I must disagree,” Jennie said. “Alex, you do not have to do this.”
She squared her shoulders. Her sister’s protectiveness was unwarranted. Good heavens, it wasn’t as if Jennie had to shield her from every scrape and bit of nastiness.
“Think carefully, Alexandra,” Benedict said. “A man like Rooney has no scruples, no sense of decency. God only knows why he wants to talk to you—and you alone.” He reached for her hand. “There are other means of getting the information.”
She firmed her chin. “If providing the man with this concession—a few minutes speaking with me while guards observe the situation at all times—is expedient, then it is worth that small sacrifice on my part.”
“This endeavor is too dangerous,” Benedict persisted. “You don’t know how evil a man like him can be.”
“She will be protected,” Matthew said.
Benedict flashed a scowl. “As if that carries great weight coming from you.”
“Come now, this discussion is pointless.” Alex met Benedict’s eyes. “While I respect your opinions, this decision is entirely my own. I will do it—I will meet with that vile man.”
…
Benedict slanted Alexandra a sidelong glance. As they walked along a dark, damp corridor in the jail where Alfred Rooney was being held, she held her fingers loosely interlaced in what seemed an effort to still any trembling. Her complexion had gone ashen. How could Colton consider allowing Alex to be escorted alone to the iron-barred cell that imprisoned Rooney? Damnation, they should not be so eager to award the contemptible devil the audience he’d demanded. Had the world gone mad?
The unforgiving stone amplified the sound of his boot heels against the floor. Each tap seemed to echo the pounding of his pulse. He’d insisted on accompanying her to the point where he would be out of Rooney’s view. Matthew Colton led Alex to the jackal, while his wife and a massive bodyguard trailed their measured steps.
Courage brimmed in her eyes, not quite disguising the flicker of fear in the depths of her golden-brown irises. If only Alexandra had been not been hell-bent on meeting with the scoundrel. In time, Colton and his agents would have induced Rooney to talk. Benedict had no doubt of that. But days and hours were a luxury they did not have, as she’d pointed out in a calm voice. He suspected her motives were not entirely based on expedience and logic. Rather, a desire to prove to Rooney that he had not cowed her drove her toward that cell.
Still, he could not make peace with the fact that Alexandra would be subjected to Rooney’s despicable gaze, not for one more minute. In this case, the end did not justify the means.
“Stay back,” Colton said as they approached the cell. With a nod, Benedict joined Mrs. Colton and the bodyguard as Colton escorted Alex into the area just beyond Rooney’s cell.
“You’ve more nerve than the men I’ve dealt with,” Rooney’s voice boomed from the cell. “But I told you to come alone.”
“That’s not possible. You know that, Rooney,” Colton responded coolly. “I will step into the corridor, but if you have any notion of exploiting this situation, be aware that I will cut you down and ask questions later.”
“Bugger off,” Rooney muttered. “You don’t scare me. I am a dead man, and we both know it.”
“I will speak to Mr. Rooney now.” Alex’s voice was calm despite the slight waver in her tones.
“Good enough,” Colton said, moments before joining them out of Rooney’s sight. He’d ordered a mirror installed just beyond Rooney’s cell, allowing them to keep Alex in sight. One hint of trouble, and Rooney would no longer have need of the hangman’s services.
“Do you know why I came to you that night?” Rooney asked, seeming to lose a trace of his belligerence.
“I believe you made that abundantly clear.”
“You think I came for the map?”
“That is what you stated.”
“The map is only part of the answer. Haven’t you asked yourself why I didn’t simply break in and steal what I needed?” A harsh, strangled laugh escaped him. “I had a job to do. My employer demanded more than that bloody map.”
“And what might that have been, Mr. Rooney?”
Amazing, how she managed to hold her voice steady. Especially given Benedict’s urge to throttle the man.
“Proof of death—yours.”
The color blanched from Alex’s face. “Why would someone want me dead?”
“Marlsbrook knows the answer to that question better than I do.”
Instinct urged Benedict to go to Alex, but Mrs. Colton placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “We must learn what it is he wants to tell her.”
Christ, this was hard. Harder than he’d expected. “I don’t trust that man. He’ll find a way to hurt her.”
“Believe me, we will not allow that to happen,” Mrs. Colton whispered.
Alex squared her shoulders. “Mr. Rooney, do you plan to tell me what you wanted me to know? Or was that it? You must admit, it’s not much of a revelation. Certainly not worth my time in coming here. Surely, there’s more that you wanted to say.”
Rooney laughed under his breath, a harsh, ugly sound. “If I’d had the time, I would’ve made your death appear to be an accident. It’s more interesting that way. Sir Clayton Finch’s demise was brilliant. I only wish I could lay claim to the deed. His killer was a clever one, one of the best. It’s a game to him, making bleedin’ fools of the Yardmen. At times, the foolish blokes suspect something is amiss. But there’s nothing they can do. Soon enough, you’ll wish I’d been allowed to complete my task. Your death would’ve been quick. Far more merciful—”
“That’s enough, Rooney.” Colton emerged from the shadows to confront the prisoner. “I did not bring Miss Quinn here to subject her to your abuse.”
“So why did you bring her here?” Rooney’s tone hardened. “As for you, Miss Quinn, why are you here? Did you think I’d reveal some bloody secret? Were you fool enough to think I’d tell you who sent me? There’s nothing a lawman can do to me that’s worse than what will happen if
I say too much.”
Alex stood silent as the clock pendulum swished. “I wanted to gain some insight into your motives,” she said finally. “After all, it is not every day that someone tries to kill me.”
Her voice was quiet but firm, as if she exerted tremendous effort to maintain calm. Pride surged through Benedict. She showed such courage. Such spirit.
“Do you feel safer now, knowing I’m here in this hellhole?” Rooney’s question reeked with contempt.
“The stout metal bars do offer some reassurance,” she said.
“You’re a little fool. The professor is the one who condemned you. Not me.” His voice sounded like a snarl. “The map lays out the path to your grave. You won’t survive this. No one can protect you.”
Alex recoiled, a visible flinch. Yet, she made no move to leave. In a show of resolve, she squared her shoulders and faced him. “I’d say you missed your calling, Mr. Rooney. With your flair for drama, you might well have been quite a sensation treading the boards.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “You know I’m not the only one. There are more. Like me. They will not stop. Until you are dead. And Marlsbrook swings at the end of a noose.”
“What…what are you talking about?” she demanded.
“Ah, you believe him an innocent man?” Rooney laughed again, a grotesque sound.
“Lord Marlsbrook is not a murderer.” Each syllable sounded forced, as though she fought for composure.
“Murder is not the only sin. I will meet the executioner first. But Marlsbrook will not be far behind.”
Chapter Eleven
“Please, Alex, do have some tea.”
Jennie extended a cup filled to the brim with steaming Earl Grey. Perched on a delicate china saucer, the vessel wobbled a bit as Alex accepted it with a little sigh, only to set it quickly to the side on a doily-covered marble table. The small luxury might provide some comfort, but it would not ease the tumultuous state of her nerves. Not that anything could accomplish that feat after her encounter with Rooney.
Standing face-to-face with the man who’d attacked her—a foul-smelling brute who would have murdered her without so much as a flinch—had been hard enough to endure. But the scoundrel’s implication that somehow, in some way, Benedict was involved in this situation had made the experience nearly unbearable. It had been all she could do not to scream a rebuttal at the awful beast. But she’d maintained her dignity. Through some miracle, she’d kept her voice steady and contained the emotions his accusation had provoked. But the words had roiled her composure. There was no denying that.
Murder is not the only sin.
Rooney was lying. He had to be. Nothing out of the man’s mouth held any credence. For some reason she could not fathom, he’d wanted to destroy any faith in Benedict she still possessed.
But why? What reason might the man have to impugn Benedict’s character, and in the process, sow the seeds of doubt?
He’d continued to speak of a danger that stalked her, a menace he would neither name nor explain. Once again, he’d alluded to a document she had never seen.
The map lays out the path to your grave. You won’t survive this. No one can protect you.
At that point, Colton had intervened. Steadying her as she leaned against the arm he’d offered for support, he’d led her away from the cell.
“You will be protected. Have no fear. He’s only trying to frighten you,” he’d said with great conviction. But could anyone protect her against a threat they could not name?
Now, seated across from her behind his desk, he studied notes from Rooney’s interrogation. Colton had brought in experts skilled at drawing information from suspects, esteemed former colleagues from Scotland Yard, but they’d gotten little from the brute. Just as he’d done with Alex, he’d taunted them while providing scant intelligence, nothing that would assist them in identifying the culprit who’d ordered her death.
He looked up from his notes. His attention landed on Benedict. “What was that bastard getting at, Marlsbrook?”
His question startled her. Colton had been the one to propose she encourage Benedict to remain in London and learn whatever secrets he held. Such open hostility would drive a wedge between Benedict and the investigators. Had Rooney’s dire message eroded confidence in his plan? Did Colton fear he’d put her in real jeopardy?
For his part, Benedict’s eyes flashed with cold anger. He had been pacing the floor, as he always tended to do while puzzling out a problem, but he stopped in his tracks and turned to Matthew. “You are referring to the ramblings of a desperate man. Rooney’s mental state borders on the brink of insanity.”
“I would not have described him as deranged,” Matthew replied. “What reason would he have to bring you into this?”
“I assume the man was not pleased that I took him down with a hunk of wood. What makes you think that jackal requires a reason to cast suspicion on another?”
“A man like Rooney does little without an incentive. If he avoids the gallows, he will go to prison for a very long time. Money will do him little good. It makes sense to pay attention when he implies you were involved in this situation.”
“Come now, Matthew,” Alex spoke up. “You cannot believe Benedict is in some way involved with this despicable man.”
Matthew stood at his desk, pressing his hands to the gleaming mahogany, as if to vent the tension simmering just below his calm surface. “We have no solid reason to believe he is not involved, at least in some regard. As Rooney said, murder is not the only sin.”
“Go to hell, Colton.” Benedict stalked up to the man. “I would never willingly endanger Alexandra. Good God, man, I tracked the cur all the way from Egypt in an effort to protect her.”
Matthew did not so much as flinch. “I have been meaning to ask you about that. I am curious—why didn’t you telegraph a warning before setting off to pursue a killer?”
“A logical question,” Benedict said without hesitation. “Before I left Egypt, I knew the professor was deeply concerned for Alexandra’s well-being. But I must confess, I did not take the old gentleman’s fears as seriously as I should have. When I set off on my journey, my focus was on the pursuit of an artifact, an antiquity he’d entrusted to her.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “It was not until I learned Stockwell had been killed that I realized the man’s fears were valid.”
His words bore the ring of truth, but Colton regarded him with a highly developed skepticism. Jennie touched her husband’s forearm. “We must give Lord Marlsbrook the benefit of the doubt. He came after that brute. He saved Alex’s life. We’ve no reason to distrust him.”
“That remains to be seen.” Colton’s expression remained grim. “The truth will come out in the end. But in the meantime, I will provide Alex with an escort at all times.”
Good heavens, he could not mean to saddle her with a chaperone. No matter how well-intentioned the act, she would not allow herself to be treated like a caged bird.
“That is out of the question,” Alex spoke up. “I will not stand for it.”
“I will not risk your safety. We would all rest easier if you took up temporary residence in our home.”
“Thank you, Matthew. But I am confident in our present arrangement. I do not object to a guard stationed outside my residence, but I will not be subjected to being followed whenever I venture out of my house.”
“That will not be necessary.” Benedict was quietly forceful. “As it is evident that Professor Stockwell and I have led this danger to Alexandra’s door, I feel a personal responsibility to see to her safety. It is my intention to remain in London for the next few days. I will arrange for a trusted driver, and I will personally provide an escort whenever you deem it appropriate, Alexandra.”
“Not acceptable,” Matthew said with a rough shake of his head.
“Gentlemen, I have a suggestion,” Jennie began. “We can rely upon Bertram and that new agent he’s training to serve as Alex’s personal drivers for the next week or s
o. Doing so will assure the integrity and skill of the person holding the reins to her carriage.”
“That is a fine idea,” Alex said quickly. She was not about to become enmeshed in a struggle of wills between Matthew and Benedict.
“Good enough,” Jennie said, sweeping to the door. “Alex, would you join me on an excursion? I’d love a bit of air, and it’s high time you met our new agent. I’m certain you will be most impressed.”
Clad in a distinguished suit of dark wool, Bertram met the ladies with a craggy-faced smile and a tip of his dapper bowler hat. Upon Jennie’s request, he readied a brougham for their outing. Of course, Bertram was far from the typical driver. His command of a team of horses was top-notch, as was his ability to evade a pursuer. Many a younger driver had tangled with the man over the years. None had emerged the victor.
At his side, a slender, fresh-faced figure held the reins. Tabitha Cooke was a recent Colton agency recruit. Jennie spoke highly of the young operative’s skill. With a hat sitting atop the long, dark hair she’d swept up and pinned at the nape, few would guess the trouser-clad driver was a young woman who’d left behind a life in the Yorkshire Dales for a position serving the Crown. Alex suspected the story of how the driver had found her way into the employ of the Colton Agency was interesting, indeed.
Greeting Alex enthusiastically, Miss Cooke flashed a good-natured smile that reached her intelligent eyes. Once they were settled inside the coach, the driver commanded the team with impressive skill. Peeling back the curtain, Jennie peered out the window. Her expression was pensive, and she turned back to Alex with a look of care etched on her features.
“I feared this might be a mistake. Encouraging further involvement with Benedict was a risky proposition from the start, and I made my feelings clear to Matthew,” she said.
“I cannot believe he is involved with that horrid man,” Alex protested.
Jennie pulled in a low breath and let it escape. “Having observed his reaction while you were at Rooney’s cell, I am positive the man holds you in high regard. I saw the tension in his face as Rooney provoked you. At one point, I thought he’d disregard Matthew’s instructions and confront the man himself. He appeared ready to pummel the cur.”
When a Lady Deceives Page 10
