He hadn’t had more than a few hours’ sleep a night since Elizabeth disappeared. He should have taken her then, that night. Secreted her out of London to keep her safe. But he’d been so focused on getting Darton out of prison, on reading the evidence himself, on taking charge.
Callum never suspected she’d disappear…
He shook those thoughts away, pushing them back. No matter how often those memories crowded his mind, he saw no other answer. And it never mattered, for in the end Darton hung and he never had discovered Elizabeth’s whereabouts.
Stalking the dimmed halls of his townhouse, Callum eschewed the candelabra. He needed no light to find his way; every step he took this night retraced ones he’d taken every night for over a year. Tonight felt different, however, and he couldn’t place why.
Yes, Garrow would be hanged before the week was out, the British legal system worked very quickly when it came to those convicted of treason. But tonight he felt restless, uneasy.
Tiredness weighed heavily on him, and Callum debated sleep. The sleep of the dead, but knew he’d never return to his bedroom until he found Elizabeth. Wouldn’t sleep in the bed they shared until she lay there with him.
Turning for the library, he debated pouring a drink for himself. Just one, for he refused to lose control enough for the nightmares to invade his sleep. Instead of entering the room, however, Callum crossed to where his father’s portrait once hung.
Callum had questioned the Darton household, but they knew naught as to Elizabeth’s whereabouts. The butler had confessed, however, to the events of the night Elizabeth disappeared. And how the earl had visited her.
He didn’t need to confront Edgar to know the old man hadn’t offered his help in freeing Elizabeth’s father. But no matter how Callum questioned him, or what papers he blatantly rifled through, there was no information as to his beloved’s whereabouts.
Not long after Elizabeth’s father hanged, his own father died. Callum didn’t miss the bastard, but it wasn’t until Edgar no longer held possession over the house, the Aycliff lands, and even him, that he realized how much he truly hated his father. And how Callum blamed him for Elizabeth’s disappearance.
He’d lost control that night, lonely and drunk, and had destroyed his father’s portrait. As the canvas burned, one fleeting thought haunted him. To this day it did. Had Edgar been responsible for Elizabeth’s disappearance?
The knock at the front door startled him, before those thoughts went further, before the sickening notion that his father may have disposed of Elizabeth.
Without waiting for the butler to rouse, Callum stalked to the front door himself. No need to disturb the staff. Yanking open the door, he looked impatiently into the night. Well past midnight, the street still teemed with carriages, people enjoying themselves before the true start of the London season.
A young boy stood before him, dirty, eager, and clutching a piece of paper in his hand as if it were a lost scroll of the bible.
“Lord Aycliff?” the boy demanded, eying him in disbelief. Callum nodded and the boy shoved the paper at him. “I was told to give this to you, my lord.”
He ran off before Callum could catch him, spry and limber as he dodged pedestrians. By the time Callum made it to the sidewalk, the boy was long gone.
Returning to the townhouse, he slammed the door closed, only just remembering to lock it. His strides were long and rushed as he returned to his study where he’d left a candle burning.
The bounty you offered for the woman. I have her. And I want the bounty. Come down to the east end. Behind Journey’s Pub. Bring the coin.
The missive was written awkwardly, the letters stiff and cramped. Heart pounding, Callum examined the paper, but it revealed no hint as to its origins. Dropping it to the desk, Callum reached into his drawer and grabbed the moneybag he’d kept locked in there since offering the reward for any information leading him to Elizabeth. Over the months many, far too many, had tried to claim it, but none ever had true information as to her whereabouts.
Snuffing out the candle, he raced from the room, stopping only long enough to shrug on his greatcoat and grab his walking stick. Callum flagged down a hackney, paying the driver extra to take him so deep into the east end so late at night.
His mind raced as he thought about what had just transpired. The boy hadn’t waited around for additional coin, and Callum wondered why that was. Had he been warned not to be caught by the earl? Or simply paid off enough not to bother? Callum doubted the latter—he’d never met a street urchin who didn’t want additional payment.
The drive to Journey’s Pub was slow, too slow for Callum who spent the ride envisioning all the horrendous things that could have happened to Elizabeth in the months since he’d last seen her. Had she been living in those shacks this entire time?
If this woman was even her, and while part of Callum hoped it was, he doubted it.
Once before the pub, Callum tossed another coin to the driver, who sped off into the night. The Journey’s Pub looked like every other pub Callum had ever entered. And during the last year, he’d entered nearly all of them in London.
Rounding the rear of the building, he could see only half a dozen yards or so into the maze of alleyways intersecting directly behind the pub. Most disappeared into a winding warren of passages where a person could easily lose his way if he didn’t know the layout.
He didn’t like it; too many darkened avenues hid who knew what in their shadows. Callum needed to leave, he knew this to be a trap, but he couldn’t risk it. What if, by some chance, this unknown man really did have Elizabeth?
There was no sound, though the stench of the alleyways was overpowering. Suddenly a man appeared from one the openings. He limped badly and dragged a woman with dark hair behind him. The woman made no sound, though Callum could see she still lived.
“Where’s yer coin?” the man demanded in a thick street accent.
“Let me see her!” Callum demanded. He stepped menacingly forward, prepared to defend both himself and this woman, even if she was not Elizabeth.
The man threw the woman forward, where she fell at his feet. Callum immediately knew she was not his Elizabeth. But then the woman reached up, fumbled with the tie of his breeches.
“She can be yours,” the man offered. “Yours for the price of that bounty. She’ll be your slave. No one will ever know.”
Disgusted, Callum pushed her away and stepped to the side. Furious, he nonetheless had to know. Had to be certain. The cloak fell from her face, and he knew she was not his woman.
In two quick strides, Callum crossed to the man. Pushing him against the wall, he held his walking stick against the man’s throat. “Do you even know who Elizabeth Darton is?” he demanded harshly. Pressing the cane harder against his throat Callum snarled. “Have you seen her?”
“But this woman is good enough for what you want!” the man insisted, the words broken as he tried to speak against the cane. He cowered against Callum’s wrath, but the truth rang clearly in his words.
The man knew nothing about Elizabeth. Another fake trying to claim the reward.
“Get the hell out of here,” Callum ordered as the man scrambled away. The woman, Callum noticed, was long gone. “Before I snap your neck.”
****
Elizabeth had watched the entirety of the scene from another of the many alleys behind the pub. Despite the stench of trash, unwashed bodies, stale, illicit sex, and possibly a dead body though she refused to look to be sure, she’d waited for Callum to arrive. Even watching him threaten the man with the limp, she knew deep within her this was a trap.
Her heart beat painfully in her chest, and she clenched the long, wicked knife Donald had given her months ago. Part of her wanted to step into the opening, reveal herself to Callum. It had been far too long since she’d been this close to him. But she suspected another waited in the shadows of the alleyways.
Whether to kill Callum, as she had heard, or for information. Elizabeth suspected
the former. Dervin had a habit of ridding himself of all potential obstacles.
She’d been watching Callum from her doorway across the street. No matter what kind of fool she called herself, every night she returned. Some nights she made her way into the gardens, never locked now, and spied him through his study windows.
Tonight, however, she held herself aloof, as if she had the strength of will to resist him. That was when she saw the boy. Elizabeth had intercepted him before he could wake the household and read the missive herself. Paying him a handsome sum, she warned him not to be caught by the earl, and felt no ounce of remorse at lying to the boy. But she couldn’t risk him revealing her presence there.
Now, waiting for Callum to leave Elizabeth crept from the shadows. Circling behind the second man who watched the scene unfold, she moved silently. That man hadn’t moved since she’d arrived, but now raised a pistol. Her heart stopped as she realized what he intended. He planned to kill Callum.
Raising her knife, Elizabeth would not let that happen. She crept behind the man, focused on her mission. With one smooth move, she purposely slid the knife into the back of the man’s neck. Without remorse, she watched him jerk. He tried to grasp, to make a sound as he fumbled for the knife, but it was far too late. Elizabeth watched, feeling nothing as he struggled.
Then he jerked backwards, knocking her into the wall. She quickly pushed him away, unable to tear her eyes from the sight. This was the first person she’d killed. Despite her months living in hiding, of familiarizing herself with alleyways exactly like this one, this man was the first time she’d killed. This man…she didn’t know his name and didn’t want to know.
Elizabeth didn’t realize she shook until she stood from the wall and tried to move. She looked at the knife, a faint shadow in the darkness, protruding horribly from his neck but couldn’t bring herself to retrieve it.
Eyes focused on him, she forced herself to reach for the pistol, lying by his feet, instead. Stumbling to the opening of the alley, she watched Callum leave. Nausea rolled in her stomach, and she desperately wanted to run to him. Allow her lover to hold her, to simply feel his strength around her.
Instead, Elizabeth watched him walk away. The man with the limp hurried down another alley and out of sight, but she watched Callum stride into the open street and away from the pub.
Chapter Five
The trembling had nearly stopped by the time she returned to her rooming house. Elizabeth clutched her cloak tighter around her so no one could see the blood staining the gown. She doubted many would notice, not in this part of London, but she didn’t want the extra attention. With a quick nod to the woman in the foyer, she hurried up the stairs.
The owner of the house was nice enough, rarely asked questions, and never questioned Elizabeth’s comings and goings. But tonight she felt different. She’d killed a man, had been within arm’s reach of Callum, and felt as if her world compressed in on her.
She wondered if she looked as changed as she felt.
The door to her room lay open, and Elizabeth crept cautiously to it. The pistol felt heavy in the pocket of her cloak, and she gripped it tightly. For a heartbeat she wished for her knife, but the image if it sticking out of that man’s neck made her feel ill.
“Elizabeth?”
Donald’s voice eased the tension in her shoulders and she breathed a sigh of relief. The trembling began again, but Elizabeth felt slightly more in control as she entered her room and closed the door.
“You take far too many risks, being out this late,” he scolded. But he immediately went to her, concern darkening his blue eyes. “What’s happened? Where have you been?”
He’d already seen the blood, it coated her hands. With gentle fingers he opened her cloak, unsurprised at the blood staining her gown.
“What happened?”
She half turned from him before he could see more, like how she still shook, and walked to the window. It overlooked an alley much like she’d just exited, but Elizabeth didn’t see the view below anyway.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “It’s Callum who takes far too many risks. He follows every fool’s errand no matter how flimsy or how dangerous in his search for me. What if I had not been there, watching his house? What if I had not intercepted that damn boy?”
She turned to Donald, who remained silent and inscrutable. Heart clenching at the thought, she looked back out the window she added softly, “He could have been killed.”
“So there was a man sent after him,” Donald said as if he’d expected it.
Elizabeth merely nodded, unable to voice her fear. No matter how close she and Donald had become in the last year, some things were still intensely private.
She shot him a look that told him she knew what he was going to say. Moving from the window, she walked the short distance to the water basin and scrubbed her hands. The water was cool, and she scoured her nails to get rid of the blood.
“There is a way to stop Callum from taking these unnecessary risks,” he added in a somewhat lighter tone as he handed her a linen towel.
Satisfied she’d cleaned her hands of that would-be murderer’s blood, Elizabeth opened her trunk and retrieved a clean gown. This one was also simple, worn, but still functional.
“Return to him,” Donald said from the other side of the partition.
Peeking her head around the side of the panels, she shot him a hard look. “You know I can’t. We’ve discussed this. I can’t return to him. That can’t happen.”
“Things have changed, my dear,” Donald said and stood before her. “We discussed this before Callum cleared your father’s name. Now everything is very different.”
Retreating behind the panels, she tugged the clean gown up and buttoned it as best she could. “It isn’t. This type of scandal doesn’t simply die. It will haunt us forever. I’m ruined; my family is ruined. End of story.”
She walked from behind the partition and faced Donald. “I refuse to subject Callum to this,” she gestured at herself, her face, what she’d become in the year plus since leaving him, “for a future.”
“You misunderstand, Elizabeth.” Donald turned her round and finished buttoning her gown. Elizabeth felt no shame or embarrassment at this, what lay between she and Donald was far from sexual. He was desperately in love with Henrietta, the head of the Hellfire Club, but he was a very dear friend to her.
“The sentiment has changed,” Donald continued as he turned her to face him again. “There’s now great sympathy for Darton and for you.”
But she shook her head. “No. It can never be the same again.”
“Callum has suffered in losing you,” he insisted. “It’s a greater kindness to return to him than it is to keep yourself from him.”
“Look at me, Donald,” she insisted. “Really look at me. I’m not the same as before they arrested Father. Not only do I carry the stain of treasonous scandal, but I don’t look as if I could be his countess.”
She stepped around him, unable to meet his gaze. “Not any longer.”
“Elizabeth,” Donald insisted, but touch her. “He won’t care.”
“I care.” She looked over her shoulder but stopped him before he could say more. “Please.” She held up a hand and pleaded. “I can’t…” she shook her head. “I need to find Dervin. He’ll be more desperate now that his murder plot against Callum failed.”
“You shouldn’t go out by yourself.” Donald closed his eyes in resignation. “However, if you insist, report back to me in the morning. I’ll be waiting.”
She re-tied her cloak around her and pulled on her winter gloves. Donald walked her out the door and disappeared down the street. Elizabeth watched him go before turning for the opposite end.
Based on the information she’d learned, and that from Donald’s sources, there were several places she needed to search for Caleb Dervin. The first several pubs disappointed her, but Elizabeth rarely slept herself these days and continued on.
The final pub, The Thron
e and…Elizabeth squinted at the faded sign. Did that say Sausage? The Throne and Sausage? Shaking her head at the oddity of it, she stepped through the door.
Slipping into a back seat, she kept her hood over her head. The coins she placed on the table earned her a tankard of truly awful ale and a loaf of bread. She didn’t touch the ale, all too well acquainted with the sort of drink sold in these types of establishments.
Uncertain how long she should stay, Elizabeth broke off a piece of the bread and waited.
Dervin entered. She spotted him only because she’d kept an eagle eye on the door. A tall man, he nonetheless blended into the crowd as would a man half his size. Despite the light from the fireplace and scattered wall torches, Elizabeth couldn’t see him clearly. Every fiber of her being told her it was Dervin, however, and she scanned the tables for who he might be meeting.
Leaning over the small table, Elizabeth tracked his movements. Dervin sat at a table with a man whose back faced her. Though the pub was of an average size, she sat too far away to hear what they spoke of.
Impatient, she debated what to do next when the man stood. He turned to her then, and she fell against her seat, shocked. She scrambled to place his name, but it didn’t matter. The man Dervin spoke with was from the Hellfire Club. Elizabeth had spent enough time waiting for Donald in the cobbler’s storage room to recognize the majority of the Club members.
She stood, added another coin to the table, and hurried after them. Dervin turned left and disappeared around the corner. Elizabeth took a step after him before deciding to see who the Hellfire Club man was, and what his part in all this could be. Whirling around, she quickly scanned the street and hurried after him.
The unnamed man didn’t go far, several blocks to a gaming hell. Rather than enter, however, the man grabbed a street urchin by the scruff of his neck, gave him a coin, withheld the second one, and waited. Elizabeth crept closer, hidden by the shadows, and also waited.
Aycliff's Vow: A Hellfire Club Erotique Page 3
