Sweetest Scoundrel

by Elizabeth Hoyt

  Asa grinned. “At least we’ll have a next summer.”

  He meant to say more, but a shout came from behind them.

  He turned to see Jean-Marie dashing toward them, and behind him… smoke coming from the roof of the theater.

  Asa had heard of people’s blood freezing in their veins, but until now he’d thought it hyperbole.

  Now, though, for a split second, his limbs were entirely turned to ice. He couldn’t move.

  His fucking theater was on fire.

  They’d formed a bucket brigade last time. They’d muscled in water from the Thames, bucket by bucket, man to man, all by hand, Asa standing between a yellow-and-lavender-beribboned footman and a wherryman, heaving for all he was worth until he’d felt as if his arms had been torn from his body and it all had been for naught. His theater, the courtyard, the musicians’ gallery, the plantings, every fucking thing had burned right down to the ground.

  He’d lost it all.

  Not again.

  “Water!” Asa roared, his throat shredded, and then he ran for the theater. “Get water on the roof!”

  Nearby three gardeners threw down their rakes and started running toward the courtyard.

  “Move your bloody arses! The theater roof is burning.”

  He ran toward the courtyard, aware that Apollo and Jean-Marie matched his pace. “Where’s Eve?”

  “I left ’er ’ere.” The footman looked around the courtyard wildly.

  It was flooded with shouting men, screaming women, workmen with buckets, dancers running out with costumes in their arms… and no sign of Eve at all.

  “Eve!” Asa bellowed. “Eve!”

  “She’s in the theater!” Polly the dancer shouted, a screaming child in her arms. “She was right behind me. I told her to get out—”

  But Asa was no longer listening. He glanced once at Apollo.

  “Go,” Apollo said. “I’ll take care of the buckets. Go!”

  And Asa was dashing up the steps of the smoke-filled theater, Jean-Marie on his heels.

  Inside the theater the smoke was, thankfully, rising to the rafters. Asa and Jean-Marie barreled down the main aisle. Asa vaulted to the partially rebuilt stage, not waiting to see if the footman was still with him. The corridors behind the stage were filled with billowing smoke.

  Asa ducked, thrusting his arm over his face as the best barrier he had. “Eve!”

  He listened and suddenly heard a pounding.

  “Eve!” He raced toward the office they shared. What was the bloody woman doing? “Eve!”

  The door was shut and Asa rushed to open it… but the damned thing wouldn’t budge.

  “Asa!” Eve’s voice came from within the room.

  He placed his mouth close to the wood. “Unlock the door, luv!”

  “I didn’t lock it. It’s stuck.”

  Asa could feel sweat sliding down his spine. The smoke was thickening. He had the key and he took it from his pocket, jamming it in the lock.

  It turned easily, but when he pulled, the door still stuck.

  “It’s been nailed shut,” Jean-Marie shouted behind him, pointing to a series of nails along the upper edge of the door.

  Asa swore and, after backing a step, ran his shoulder into the door, feeling the shock of impact down to his bones.

  The door shook but didn’t open.

  Christ! Asa coughed as sweat ran in his eyes, stinging them. “Together.”

  They backed a step and then both he and Jean-Marie rammed against the door in unison, making the entire frame shake again. The door held firm.

  Beside him Jean-Marie grunted, and Asa glanced over to see him holding his right arm with his left hand.

  Shit.

  The damned thing looked dislocated.

  Asa was stepping back again, determined to break the fucking door down alone if need be, when he heard a shout and turned and stared.

  Malcolm MacLeish was there in the corridor with a wet cloth over his mouth and nose. He removed it only to say, “This way!”

  Asa gave him an incredulous look.

  The architect scowled. “Do you want to save Miss Dinwoody or not? Come with me!”

  MacLeish disappeared around the corner.

  “God’s balls!” What was the architect up to? Asa rounded the same corner to find MacLeish opening… Asa blinked. MacLeish was opening a door in the corridor paneling that simply hadn’t been there before.

  The architect ducked through the door.

  “What the buggering hell?” Asa growled.

  He followed and found himself in a second corridor inside the wall. It was so tight he had to sidle through.

  “Asa!” He could still hear Eve’s frantic shouts, and the sound put him on edge.

  They crept perhaps ten feet down the strange passageway until Asa saw a pinprick of light at eye height coming from the inner wall.

  “Here.” In the dim light he saw MacLeish place his palm on the wall. “Your office is behind here. I just need to—” The architect bent and did something and suddenly a square panel popped out of the wall at knee height.

  Asa shoved MacLeish aside. “Eve!” She was on her knees, already crawling through the space, the bloody dove cage in one hand.

  “Come, Henry,” she said as she rose, and suddenly the too-small passage was made even more cramped by the entrance of a huge mastiff.

  Asa took Eve’s hand—slim and warm and alive—in his and led her back out the way they’d come, Henry and MacLeish following.

  Jean-Marie was waiting in the corridor when they emerged. “Bon. We must leave.”

  Was it his imagination or had the smoke gotten worse?

  He gripped Eve’s hand tight and ran through the smoke-filled theater, dog and dove and all. He shoved open the outer door and dragged her into the fresh air.

  “Oh!” Eve exclaimed, and he turned to find that she’d dropped the dove cage. It smashed on the stone steps of the theater and the white dove fluttered free, flying up high above the roof. “Oh, no,” Eve whispered.

  “I’m sorry, luv,” Asa gasped.

  The sun shone brightly and he halted, drawing deep, soothing breaths of cool air into sore lungs.

  He turned to squint at his roof.

  Water was running off it in sheets from the buckets being passed up. Two ladders had been set against the building and several of the workmen clung to them, handing buckets up to other workmen standing on the roof.

  “Asa.”

  Was it enough? He couldn’t see the smoke, but fire was a cunning thing, smoldering unnoticed and then blazing suddenly, impossibly anew. If—

  “Asa.”

  He looked finally and found that Eve had her hands wrapped around his arm. She was tugging gently to get his attention.

  He scowled. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s all right, Asa,” she said gently, as if speaking to a senile old man. “Lord Kilbourne thinks the fire is out.”

  Apollo was on his other side now. “It was a small fire, in one of the chimneys. I’ve sent some of the men up on the roof to inspect it.” He shook his head and lowered his voice. “It might’ve been set.”

  Asa narrowed his eyes and turned to look at the roof again. The workmen were thoroughly sloshing the water about, but Apollo was right: there wasn’t any more smoke.

  Eve cleared her throat. “We should go. Jean-Marie’s been hurt and I have to get him to a doctor.”

  He blinked down at her. Eve, his Eve—though he had no right to that claim—safe and sound. Someone had locked her in the office.

  Someone had tried to kill his Eve.

  “Not yet.” Asa took two strides toward the architect and grasped him by his neckcloth, jerking him close enough to hiss in his face, “Why the fuck are there peepholes and hidden passages in my bloody theater?”

  EVE HAD NEVER seen Asa so coldly angry. Instead of shouting and violent gestures, Asa was still and very, very quiet. He merely leaned forward to whisper in Mr. MacLeish’s ear, “Tell me no
w.”

  That whisper sent a chill down Eve’s spine, and apparently it was enough to frighten Mr. MacLeish into confessing.

  “It was Montgomery,” he gasped, and Eve closed her eyes.

  Of course it had been Val. It seemed every time she turned around her brother was involved in something else nefarious.

  Something else she felt shame for, even if he did not.

  “Vhat do you mean?”

  Eve opened her eyes to see that Mr. Vogel had joined the little circle around Asa and Mr. MacLeish.

  Some of the theater folk were lingering, but Lord Kilbourne turned and waved to them. “Let’s make sure the fire’s out.” He strode away, shooing people before him like a giant sheepdog.

  “Malcolm?” Mr. Vogel’s voice was low but sharp.

  Mr. MacLeish closed his eyes and seemed to wilt in Asa’s hands. His red hair was darkened and flattened by sweat in contrast to the white of his face and suddenly Eve felt impossible pity for him. “Montgomery insisted on the changed plans. Insisted that they be kept secret from you. I had no choice.”

  Asa shook him once, hard. “The theater’s mine. You work for me.”

  “No,” Mr. MacLeish snapped back, suddenly brave for a man being held in Asa Makepeace’s fist. “I’ve never worked for you. Montgomery made that very plain when he forced me to work for him. He’s my master, no one else, and when he told me to build secret tunnels, secret peepholes, I had no choice.”

  He stopped, pale and panting.

  “Fuck.” Asa let him go suddenly and the architect staggered back. “You’re telling me my theater is riddled with peepholes?”

  It was Mr. Vogel who said, “Forced you?”

  Eve cleared her throat and said in a small voice, “My brother has been blackmailing Mr. MacLeish.”

  “What?” Asa’s head snapped around toward her.

  Mr. MacLeish’s face paled even more, if that was possible, and he looked absolutely wretched as he stared at the composer. He licked his lips. “Montgomery has letters…”

  Mr. Vogel’s eyes narrowed. “You let yourself be blackmailed?”

  “You don’t understand.” Mr. MacLeish took two steps to stand in front of Mr. Vogel and Eve felt suddenly like a voyeur. “There was another involved. I couldn’t let him be—”

  “So you became a slave instead.”

  Mr. MacLeish’s head reared back as if the composer had slapped him across the face. “I’m no slave. Hans…”

  Mr. Vogel lifted a contemptuous hand and turned without waiting for the other man to finish his sentence.

  Eve felt very, very sorry for Mr. MacLeish.

  “Why the bloody fuck would Montgomery want to put peepholes in my theater?” Asa asked quietly.

  Mr. MacLeish actually backed a step. “I… I don’t know.”

  “Blackmail,” Eve said.

  Asa whirled on her. “What?”

  She lifted her chin, holding her ground. “That’s what Val deals in, what he always wants. Information that he can use to make people do as he wishes.” She looked at the theater, big and beautiful, a lovely enticement. “Think of the people who go to your theater—the affairs, the politicians making deals in their boxes, the society ladies whispering gossip.” She shrugged sadly. “To Val it would be like a dish of bonbons.”

  “Jesus. I want them blocked up.” Asa turned to MacLeish, his hands on his hips. “The peepholes plugged, the passageways bricked, do you understand me?”

  Mr. MacLeish gulped. “But Montgomery…”

  “Leave Montgomery to me,” Asa said grimly. “And MacLeish?”

  “Y… yes?”

  “I want my theater fixed.” Asa glanced over his shoulder. Water still streamed off the theater tiles and everything smelled faintly of smoke. He looked back at Mr. MacLeish. “We open in less than a fortnight. I want it fucking pristine.”

  He took Eve’s arm and started striding away.

  Eve glanced worriedly at Jean-Marie. He cradled his arm against his chest. Someone had found a bit of cloth to make a sling around his neck, but there were pale indents in the dark skin on either side of his mouth and he was quite obviously in pain. Henry walked with him, the mastiff pressed against her footman’s side, and Eve couldn’t help a small smile at the dog.

  He was so sweet to comfort Jean-Marie.

  Asa stopped suddenly, and Eve’s attention was jerked around to find a quite extraordinary sight:

  Alf was coming toward them, a small pistol held in one hand and pointed at the back of Mr. Sherwood.

  Oh, dear, this couldn’t be good.

  ASA FELT A growl start in his chest at the sight of Sherwood, disheveled and soot-streaked, being marched at gunpoint and quite obviously against his will toward the theater.

  “Found ’im trying to leave by the back gate,” Alf said, gesturing with his pistol. “Seemed a bit suspicious.”

  Asa dropped Eve’s arm and took two steps toward Sherwood.

  Sherwood made a sound like a frightened mouse right before Asa struck him on the chin. The theater manager collapsed in a sprawl of limbs.

  Slim fingers caught his arm and Asa looked down to see Eve holding him quite determinedly. “Stop.”

  “He tried to burn down my fucking theater,” Asa roared.

  She didn’t even blink, this girl who only a little over a week before had turned tail and run from his violence. “You don’t know that.”

  Asa waved one sweeping arm, encompassing the theater and gardens and all. “Then what’s he doing here?”

  She actually looked exasperated. “Maybe we should ask him.”

  “Oh, aye, I’ll ask him,” Asa said, standing over the man. He raised his fist.

  “Don’t hit me again!” Sherwood screeched, hands over his face. “For God’s sake, don’t hit me.”

  Asa lifted his upper lip. “Why the hell shouldn’t I?”

  “You broke my nose last time,” Sherwood whined. His nose did look swollen and his eyes were rimmed with faded green bruises.

  “And so I’ll break it again,” Asa said, cocking his arm.

  “I wasn’t doing anything!”

  “You were trespassing,” Asa growled. “Right after a fire started in my theater.”

  “It wasn’t me!” Sherwood gasped. “I came to see if I could lure La Veneziana back, nothing more, I swear.”

  Asa snorted. “And what about my stage? Where were you when it was sabotaged?”

  “What?” Sherwood looked honestly bewildered. “I never did anything to your blasted stage. I wasn’t anywhere near your garden when it collapsed. It fell on its own.”

  “And how do you know about it, then?” Asa roared.

  “All of London knows your stage fell in,” Sherwood screamed. “It’s no reason to hit me again, though!”

  Asa stared, disgusted and enraged, down at the little worm. He bent to thrust his face into Sherwood’s face. “I. Don’t. Fucking. Believe. You.”

  Sherwood went greenish pale. “Wait.” He licked his lips. “What if… what if I can tell you who might’ve done this?”

  “I won’t believe that, either,” Asa sneered. “The hell with it. I’m going to beat you to a bloody pulp and then maybe you’ll stay away from my garden.”

  But Eve grasped his arm. Again. “Wait.” She met his glare with a steady gaze. “Can we at least find out whom he means?”

  Asa turned his head slowly back to Sherwood.

  “Hampston!” the little man shrieked.

  “What?” Eve whispered.

  She’d dropped her fingers from Asa’s arm, but he caught her hand and held it in his own, giving comfort.

  “My… my backer is Hampston.” Sherwood licked his lips. “I thought he was going to help me build my own theater here, but that’s not what he’s after at all.”

  “What’s he after, then?” Asa growled.

  “The land.” Sherwood nodded rapidly as Asa’s eyebrows went up. “I figured it out after I saw a letter from a builder. He wants to construct
houses here. He’s not interested in the theater at all.”

  Asa narrowed his eyes.

  “And… and if he’s not interested in Harte’s Folly or the gardens, well…” Sherwood shrugged jerkily. “Makes sense he might just try to burn you out.”

  It did make sense—a horrible twisted sense. But for the saboteur to be an aristocrat… damn it. Asa didn’t have much recourse against a rich, titled man. Hell, he didn’t even have any evidence, save for the babbling of a theater rival.

  There wasn’t much he could do—legally, anyway.

  Suddenly Asa was bone-weary.

  “Just get up,” he said in disgust.

  Sherwood looked at him suspiciously. “You’re not going to hit me?”

  “Not if you get up and leave my bloody garden right now,” Asa growled. “I am beginning to reconsider, however…”

  Sherwood lunged to his feet rather athletically and, with a last frightened glance at Asa, turned and fled.

  “Arsehole,” Asa muttered.

  He felt Eve squeeze his hand.

  Beside them Jean-Marie groaned under his breath.

  Asa shoved a hand through his hair. “Come on, we need to get you to a bed, Jean-Marie.”

  Not to mention he needed to find out if Eve was withholding any more secrets about her sweet, darling brother.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eric took the bag without comment—though Dove thought she saw him smile—and set out again. Before long they came to a large rock with a hole in the ground beneath it.

  “Enchanted mushrooms grow in that hole,” Eric said, “But I cannot reach them, for it is too narrow for my shoulders.”

  “Oh, that is easily done!” said Dove, and she wriggled her way into the hole. When she emerged it was with a bag full of colorless mushroom caps.…

  —From The Lion and the Dove

  The minute they entered Eve’s carriage, Jean-Marie laid his head back against the squabs and set his lips. He made no sound, just silently suffered as the carriage rocked and bumped into motion.

  It must be paining him terribly, but without a doctor, Eve wasn’t certain what she could do.

  Asa sat beside her, staring out the window, and Eve couldn’t help wondering if he was brooding.