A Lady's Secret Weapon (27 page)

Sydney stormed into the Agency’s drawing room where her clients normally waited to be escorted up to her study. Rather than carry Mick up three flights of stairs and risk further injury, Amelia had assembled a makeshift bed for him down here before coming to get her.

The scene that greeted her was far worse than she’d expected. Bloody rags were strewn about the floor, filling the room with a caustic, rusty scent that made her head spin and stomach roil.

On the pallet lay an ashen-faced Mick, with his brother steadying his upper body and the thief-taker Cameron Adair securing his lower. Standing at the patient’s side was Charlotte Fielding, a good friend of Amelia’s and a brilliant apothecary.

A large hand settled on Sydney’s lower back, and she took instant comfort from having Ethan at her side. Her breaths were coming faster and her skin had turned clammy. Soon, she would have to leave so she didn’t make matters worse by blacking out. But not yet.

“Help me out of this coat,” Ethan said, already working on the buttons.

When he’d heard Amelia’s announcement, he’d taken control and hurried them out to the awaiting carriage, pausing only long enough to bark an order at Tanner to summon Lord Somerton. Once under way, he’d questioned Amelia relentlessly until she had no more answers. Unfortunately, she’d had little to share because she’d left almost immediately to fetch Sydney.

It took her several hard yanks to break him free of the fitted garment. His silver waistcoat followed.

Tilting her chin up, he spoke quickly. “Somerton and the others will be here soon. I need you to fill them in on everything.” He must have felt her stiffen. “Everything, Sydney, please. You and Amelia might have knowledge we do not, and likewise for us. When we get a break here, we’ll question the thief-taker about Mick.” He kissed her forehead. “You know you can trust them.”

She nodded, glancing over his shoulder. Mac caught her gaze and she detected no hope in his eyes. She swallowed back her fear and infused enough determination for them both in her return gaze. Then Ethan ushered her and a protesting Amelia out, closing the door behind them. Arm in arm, she and Amelia ascended the stairs. Away from the blood and Mac’s hopeless expression.

A half hour later, Ethan entered her private study, where she kept company with Lords Somerton and Helsford, Cora deBeau, and Amelia. Fatigue scarred his handsome features, and she could see a spray of blood he tried to hide beneath his waistcoat. Leaning against the closed door, he sent the Nexus trio a meaningful look. Cora rose and joined the two men near the window, their backs to the room.

Sydney and Amelia stood, too. Their hands clasped together in silent support. “What news, Ethan?”

“I’m sorry, Sydney. We couldn’t save him.”

Sydney closed her eyes and felt her heart slowly caving in on itself. Mick in various stages of mischief flashed through her mind—him laughing, winking, slapping his knee. For the past year, his good cheer had echoed off the Agency’s walls, bringing a smile to her face again and again. So much sadness. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Couldn’t begin to imagine how this terrible loss would change her life forever.

She opened her eyes and stared at Ethan’s watery image. “How?”

“Mrs. Fielding managed to remove the bullet, but she believes the ball shattered one of Mick’s ribs. One of the bone fragments must have punctured his right lung.”

Amelia dropped her face in her hands, and Sydney pulled her assistant against her shoulder. Then Ethan gathered them both in the curve of his strong arms, and Sydney finally allowed the tears to fall.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Ethan squeezed her shoulder and eased back.

“Mac’s still in shock,” he said, “but I don’t think it will last long.”

Amelia swiped her fingers beneath her eyes. “I’ll go. He might try something stupid, like murdering Mr. Adair.”

“Perhaps you would be kind enough to send Adair up to us,” Ethan suggested.

Nodding, she hurried from the room. Somerton jerked his head toward the door, and the two agents—Lord Helsford and Cora—followed.

Ethan guided her to the chair behind her desk and then waited by her side until Adair arrived with his Nexus escort.

“Mr. Adair,” Sydney said in a quivery voice. “Please allow me to introduce you to Lord Somerton, Lord Helsford, Lord Danforth, and Miss deBeau.” Everyone made their nods. “Please sit and tell us what transpired prior to Mick O’Donnell getting sh-shot.”

Ethan squeezed her shoulder, the action giving her much-needed strength.

Adair didn’t move from his place by the door. His sharp gaze assessed every individual in the room, and she got the impression they all came up lacking somehow.

“You may trust these people,” she said, though she could not say the same for him. “They are my friends.”

The thief-taker continued to assess them as though they were a menagerie of exotic animals.

“Adair, this is important,” Ethan said. “More lives might be lost if we don’t get to the bottom of what happened today.”

“I don’t see how that is my concern,” Adair said. “I completed my contractual obligation.” He held up his bloody hands. “More so, actually.”

Ethan stepped forward, and Sydney sensed his explosive anger. Grasping his hand, she burrowed her fingers between his and used her thumb to rub soothing circles over his palm. He eased back to her side.

“Then I shall hire you to tell us what happened to Mr. O’Donnell,” Somerton said.

“And you are again?”

“Earl of Somerton. You may call upon me at 35 Charles Street tomorrow to collect payment.”

“I accept.”

Sydney had always known Adair was highly motivated by money, but his ransoming information regarding Mick’s murder made her stomach revolt. To the Nexus, she said, “I asked Mick to contact Mr. Adair to locate a gentleman by the name of William Townsend.”

Everyone’s energy shifted from Adair to her. Cora and Lord Helsford shared a look, Somerton fixed his hard crystalline eyes on her, and Ethan squatted down beside her. He started to ask her a question, but Lord Somerton cut in. “Later, Danforth. Let’s hear what Mr. Adair has to say first.”

“Townsend was no longer at the boardinghouse O’Donnell mentioned,” Adair said. “I tracked him down at an establishment near the London Docks and sent for O’Donnell.”

“What time did you send for Mick?” she asked.

“Around noon, I believe.”

“What happened next?” Ethan asked.

“O’Donnell went inside to get a better look at Townsend, so he could confirm some suspicion he had about the gentleman.”

“Where were you, Mr. Adair?” the silent, dark-eyed Lord Helsford asked.

“I followed, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Ethan scoffed.

“Had I not,
my
lor
d
”—steel coated Adair’s words—“your friend would have died alone and rotting away at the dockyard inn, as we speak.”

“Mind your damn tongue, Adair,” Ethan warned.

The thief-taker’s gaze flicked to Sydney. “My apologies, Miss Hunt.”

She nodded, though she thought her teeth would crack from the pressure of holding back the tears.

“Do you recall the name of the establishment?” Helsford asked.

“An inn called the Elephant Tusk.”

Mac appeared, filling the doorframe. Amelia hovered behind.

“Come in, please,” Sydney said.

Mac moved inside, though only a little. His grief and anger evident in the deep grooves surrounding his eyes. Amelia slipped in next to him, supportive yet wary.

“You followed O’Donnell inside,” Somerton prompted.

“Not immediately.” Adair angled his body toward Mac, keeping him in view. “After a half hour, O’Donnell gave up waiting for Townsend and made his way upstairs.” He glanced around the room, showing his first sign of uneasiness. “At the same time he pressed his ear against Townsend’s door, the bloody thing opened.”

Amelia clasped her hands together and held them against her mouth. Sydney longed to do the same, but she kept her hands locked in her lap. Hearing about Mick’s final hour was both a blessing and a horror. Though she wanted this nightmarish tale to be over, she sat on tenterhooks, eating up the thief-taker’s every word.

“Get on with it, Adair,” Mac said in a hoarse voice. “The worst has already happened.”

Adair’s lips thinned. “Even from my position at the far end of the corridor, I saw recognition light in O’Donnell’s eyes. Then he said, ‘It is you,’ right before he forced his way inside. I heard nothing amiss, so I started back down the stairs. That’s when I heard gunfire.” He stared down at his bloody hands. “By the time I reached O’Donnell, Townsend was gone, using a second set of stairs at the opposite end of the corridor.” Dropping his arms back to his sides, Adair directed his last words to Mac. “He insisted I bring him here so he could share whatever information he’d discovered in Townsend’s room.”

The two men stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Mac broke the silence. “Thank you for bringing my brother home. If you need anything, come find me.”

Adair nodded.

“Anything else?” Sydney asked. “Anything at all?”

“Considering I found Townsend at the docks, I doubt he’ll be in England for much longer.”

“I suspect you’re right,” Somerton said. “Thank you for your assistance this afternoon.”

Amelia stepped forward. “Mr. Adair, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you where you can rinse off before heading out.”

After the door closed behind them, Somerton spoke to Mac in a careful voice. “Mr. O’Donnell, did your brother share anything with you before he passed away?”

“No.” His closed expression did not allow for further questioning.

Ethan knelt next to Sydney and folded her ice-cold fingers between his warm hands. “Why did you seek William Townsend?”

Heart pounding, she said, “Townsend lodged at a boardinghouse across the street from Abbingale. We received word that an altercation had occurred between Townsend and a man whom we believed was LaRouche, the schoolmaster. I asked Mick to contact Mr. Adair to see what he knew about Townsend.”

Ethan glanced at the other Nexus.

Knowing she had missed something important, she said, “You know who William Townsend is, don’t you?”

Somerton spoke, “Someone who has plagued us for weeks, though we’ve been unable to track him down.”

“Someone who allowed the French to use his country estate as a trap and execution site,” Helsford said.

“Someone who slipped between our fingers today,” Cora finished.

The horrible name materialized, and Sydney’s attention slashed to Ethan. “Latymer.”

He nodded, confirming the link to Abbingale she’d been looking for. All that time she had spent inside the home searching for a connection, the bastard had been lounging in the boardinghouse across the street.

“How did I not tie the two together?” she asked, appalled by her incompetence.

Ethan frowned. “Latymer has eluded us all, Sydney. He did not attain his position as Under-Superintendent of the Alien Office by political appointment. He earned the right.”

“He’s correct, Miss Hunt,” Somerton said. “Latymer was not only my colleague—he was my friend. Never once did I suspect him of such duplicity or evil.”

Although she appreciated their reassuring words, they did nothing to assuage the hollow ache in her heart. Whirling around, she faced her friend. “Mac,” she said in a voice sounding nothing like her own. “I’m so sorry.” She rose to go to him.

He held up a staying hand. “You’re not to blame. I—” Emotion closed off his words. “Pardon me.” He disappeared down the corridor, never once looking her in the eyes.

Ethan settled his hand on the back of her neck and kissed her temple. Unlike before, his warmth did not penetrate the thick layer of ice coating her blood.

“It’ll be all right,” Ethan murmured. “He needs time.”

Perhaps. She also knew, no matter what else happened, the Mac she knew was lost to her forever.

Ethan paused on the landing to listen for approaching footsteps. Tonight, he would complete his mission and remove Giles Clarke from this questionable place and tomorrow he would… what? Locate and kill Latymer, certainly. But beyond that? His jaw clenched. For the first time in many years, he could not see his future, only an endless black chasm. One thing he knew for certain: he would never return to the boudoir.

Thoughts of the bedchamber inevitably led him to Sydney. To her generous nature and selfless acts. To her beautiful body and the incredible hour they’d spent together this afternoon. And, of course, to the catastrophe he’d created at the end.

Why had he ever started sharing those damned rules with her? They did nothing more than remind them both of his unsavory past. He didn’t want her thinking about his previous lovers. With a few exceptions, they had used him as much as he’d used them. It was the handful who sought something more enduring from their liaison that haunted his conscience. None of the others.

When Sydney had shyly admitted to her feelings of inadequacy, he feared his head would explode with anguish. No woman such as she should ever experience those kinds of doubts. If he had the ability to sculpt the perfect woman, he could think of no better model—in face or form—than Sydney Hunt.

Like many other things recently, he had botched it with her. After their lovemaking, he’d wanted to crawl in bed beside her and stay for days. A first for him, and surprisingly the thought of eternity in her arms hadn’t scared him. No, what brought on his momentary paralysis was his complete and utter inexperience of what to do next.

Before Sydney, he knew the exact minute he would leave a woman’s bed. Not so this afternoon, and in his confusion, he had failed to mask his struggle. And his failure had cost them both.

Afterward, she had attempted to recapture their pre-lovemaking relationship, asking him about rescuing Giles and what he thought about LaRouche. She no longer pretended ignorance of the Nexus, nor tried to protect her Specter identity. The moment would have been monumental had it not been followed by so much crushing loss.

The news about Mick O’Donnell had devastated her, but she somehow summoned her brave face. Not for herself, but for her staff. She instinctively understood how to offer her support and still maintain an aura of quiet strength.

Once arrangements had been made for Mick, Somerton had dispatched Ethan and Helsford to Abbingale to rescue the Clarke boy. The moment he and Helsford reached Abbingale, his friend broke off to do a bit of reconnaissance of the lower level, leaving Ethan to retrieve the boy.

A sound from below jarred him back to the present. He climbed to the floor that held the three large sleeping chambers. After checking to make sure the corridor was clear, he hurried to the entrance of the first chamber. Once inside, he crept from bed to bed with the aid of a candle he’d brought along and examined each boy for Giles Clarke’s familiar features. What he didn’t expect was the rush of guilt he felt every time he recognized a face and then continued on, abandoning each of them to an uncertain fate.

Halfway through the third chamber and no sign of Giles, his gut twisted with anxiety. The boy had to be here, because if he wasn’t that meant Ethan should have gone against Somerton’s order and retrieved him last night. When the uneasy thought began to take root, he quickened his pace to the next bed.

He bent to examine the next boy’s features.

His eyes popped open, and he held his hand up to block the candlelight. “My lord, is that you?”

Ethan stared down at the pockmarked boy, his jaw clenching in frustration. “Yes, Mark,” he whispered. “It is I, Lord Danforth.”

“What are you doing here, sir?” He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m looking for Giles Clarke.”

The boy’s gaze shifted to the bed across the aisle. “Why?”

“Because I want to take him to his new family.” The lie fell easily from his lips. He hoped it would become the truth, eventually.

Mark’s face scrunched in confusion. “But, sir. Giles’s papa fetched him about an hour ago.”

“What?” his harsh voice rose above a whisper. One hour. He’d missed rescuing Giles Clarke by one hour.

The boy flinched, and several disheveled heads rose from narrow beds to investigate the disturbance.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said, twisting around to stare at the empty bed. “You caught me by surprise, is all.”

“Caught Giles by surprise, too. He thought his papa was dead.”

“Quickly, can you tell me what the gentleman looked like?”

The boy shook his head. “Giles sleeps across the way, and the man kept his back to me.”

Ethan straightened, staring at the empty bed.

“Arthur Rhodes might have seen something.” Mark threw back his covers. “He’s in the bed next to Giles’s.”

Mark and another sleepy-eyed boy led him to Arthur, who remained huddled beneath thin covers.

Everyone in the dormitory was awake now and they padded over on bare feet. They formed a semicircle around Ethan, waiting. Getting out of this place without alerting their keepers was all but impossible now. He might as well make the best of it and work on coming up with a plausible excuse for his presence.

Ethan set his candle on the bedside table. “Mr. Rhodes, do you have a moment, please?”

No reply came, but from the motion under the covers, Ethan guessed he’d just been told no.

“I’m concerned for Giles,” he said. “Do you have a description of the gentleman he left with an hour ago?”

More silence.

“Artie,” Mark said, jabbing the boy in the shoulder, “I think you should answer his lordship. Giles was your friend.”

The covers slowly lowered, and Ethan recalled the freckle-faced boy, who was afraid to stick his hand in Sydney’s bag. Brilliant. He had to pull vital information from the most timid orphan in residence.

Ethan knelt beside the bed. “What is upsetting you?”

“I can’t tell you, sir.” Tears clogged his voice.

“Gentlemen,” Ethan glanced at the small crowd, “give us a moment, please.”

“You heard him, lads. Let’s give Artie some space.” Mark shooed them all back to their beds.

Even though his body vibrated with tension, Ethan produced a calm, confidential tone. “Arthur, you and I are friends now. Yes?”

“I-I suppose so.”

“As my friend, you are under my protection. Understand?”

The boy nodded.

“If a certain gentleman, who took your friend Giles, threatened you in any way, I want you to know that I would kill him if he ever tried to harm you.” He chucked the boy under the chin to take the sting out of his words.

“You would?”

“Of course. Friends watch out for each other. Always.”

“He’s going to hurt Giles?”

Ethan squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s focus on finding them. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

The boy shook his head.

“Do you think the man was as tall as me?”

“Maybe even taller, sir.”

“Did he have brown hair?”

“No. His was as black as I’ve ever seen.”

“How about his build? Was he stocky like me or lean like your schoolmaster?”

He thought for a second. “More like Monsieur.”

“Can you think of anything else that would help me identify him? Anything at all?”

Arthur swiped his nose. “The way you talk. You sound a lot like each other.”

“You mean my accent?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did he happen to mention anything about their destination? A city or foreign country? A boardinghouse or seaside cottage? A carriage or ship?”

“Yes!”

Ethan’s heart smacked against the wall of his chest. “Which one?”

“Ship,” Arthur said with excitement. “He promised Giles that he’d get to travel on a ship.”

“A ship, not a boat. Is that right?”

He nodded. “Lots of sails.”

Ethan’s mind buzzed with possibilities. The boy’s description of Giles’s father sounded an awful lot like Lord Latymer. From the beginning, they had suspected the baron of having a connection to Abbingale, but at no time had anyone conceived of this situation. Could Latymer truly be the Clarke boy’s father? If so, what was Giles doing here and why did Latymer have to secret the boy away? Or was this an attempt at redirection?

Then he recalled Cameron Adair’s prediction about Latymer leaving the country.

“Did the gentleman mention the name of the ship, or when it might set sail?”

The boy searched his mind. “No, sir.”

Ethan pushed to his feet. “You have my deepest gratitude for your bravery.” To mark the solemnness of the occasion, Ethan presented a leg and bowed lower than he’d bowed in a very long time. “Now, I must be off.”

Pivoting on his heel, he turned to leave and was met by a group of hopeful young faces.

“Can we go with you, sir?” one boy asked. “To help save Giles?”

Ethan’s heart dropped into his stomach. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea—”

“Please, sir,” another said. “We’re tired of losing our friends during the night.”

“What do you mean?”

“They disappear in the middle of the night and never return.”

“How many have disappeared?”

Mark spoke up. “One every few weeks or so. Just the gifted ones, though.”

“Gifted ones?”

Everyone’s attention swiveled back to Mark. The boy’s pockmarked face reddened. “Like me, sir.”

“How are you gifted?”

“It’s just a title Monsieur uses.” He closed the distance between them and whispered in Ethan’s ear. “Monsieur uses the term to distinguish those of us who shouldn’t be here.”

“And why is that?”

The boy hesitated.

“Your secret is safe with me. I swear it.”

Clearing his throat, Mark said, “Because we’re not orphans.”

Before Ethan could question him further, a shrill voice cut through the chamber.

“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Drummond marched down the center aisle.

Ethan whispered to Mark, “Where might I find the schoolmaster?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Mark whispered back. “We haven’t seen him since your visit yesterday.”

Elbowing her way through the last of the boys, Mrs. Drummond’s eyes widened when she noticed Ethan in their center. “Lord Danforth,” she glanced around, her expression anxious, “what are you doing here?”

The plausible excuse he needed failed to materialize. When faced with an impossible situation, especially one involving a woman, Ethan reverted to his tried-and-true weapon—charm and a seductive smile.

“Good evening, Mrs. Drummond. How nice to see you again.”

She waved the boys away. “Back to bed with you. Now.”

Dejected, they shuffled away, glancing back several times before climbing into their narrow beds.

The nurse leveled her steely eyes on him. “Explain your business here, my lord.”

Not wanting the boys to see the lengths he would go to in order to win the nurse’s silence, Ethan indicated a nearby exit. “Shall we?”

She hesitated a moment before nodding. Once they were away from young ears, Ethan began weaving his spell.

“I know my visit this evening might seem a little unorthodox.”

She sent him a confused look. “What do you mean unorthodox?”

“Irregular. But, I assure you,” he set his hand to the center of her lower back and deepened his voice, “my reason for being here is a very good one.”

His nearness unsettled her, and she took a small step away but did not completely break contact. “And what reason would that be?”

They were nearing the staircase. He reduced the gap between their bodies. “You recall that I’m considering making a donation to Abbingale.”

The nurse glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and then nodded. She didn’t move away.

“It’s been my experience to tour an establishment during the day to get a sense of the operation. Then make a clandestine visit at night to see behind the curtains, so to speak.”

“Sounds as if you’re spying on us.”

“In a way, I am.” He produced a warm, conspiratorial smile. “We’re talking about a good deal of money, Mrs. Drummond.”

The rigid line of her lips loosened, not into a smile but something infinitely more friendly. Again, she scanned the area with a nervous eye. “You should not be here, my lord.”

“You’re right, of course.” Pausing near the staircase, he stood close enough to smell the starch in her clothing. “But one can never be too careful. I’m sure you understand.”

“If you leave now, I won’t inform Matron about your visit. Dither around here any longer and I’ll be forced to say something.” Her steely command was edged with breathless anticipation.

He leaned forward, his stomach muscles tightened and his throat clenched to hold down the bile. The hand at her back urged her forward. He pressed his lips against her cheek and produced a long, flesh-prickling breath. Then he lingered two seconds longer than was appropriate. When he lifted his head, slowly, he made sure his most intimate smile was in place. “Thank you, Mrs. Drummond. I shall not forget your kindness.”

She swallowed hard, moving away. “Good night, Lord Danforth.”

“Good night—” Pain sliced into Ethan’s skull, and his legs buckled.

The nurse gasped, staggered back, and then crumbled to the floor.

Ethan shook his head to clear his vision and managed not only to make it worse, but to send another shooting pain into his left eye and down his spine. He sensed a forbidding presence next to him and attempted to get to his feet. Another mistake that made him drunkenly fall to his backside.

“Up with you, guv’nor.” A large pair of hands seized his arm. “We’ll take you some place nice so you can rest. A lo-o-ong rest.” The man chuckled.

Ethan struggled, though his half-blinded attempt was pathetic. His attacker decided to take the easier route, and he slammed his massive boot into Ethan’s side, hurling him down the stairs. His right shoulder connected with a corner of a stair, and he heard a sickening pop—then nothing but his body thudding down the remaining stairs, followed by a
thwack
when he bounced off the landing wall. Unable to break his momentum, he started rolling down the next set of stairs. As luck would have it, he managed to grab a sturdy baluster, bringing his headlong flight to a violent halt.