All Men Are Rogues (18 page)

“Not every woman is worthy of the Barclay jewels.”

“The woman I love is worth everything I have,” he spat back, “including the Barclay bridal gems.” He leaned forward, bracing his fists on the tabletop. “And why do you continue to wear that ridiculous black sash?”

She lifted her left shoulder, as she’d always done when on the defensive. “I was worried for you. It is my right as a mother to care.”

He felt like laughing, so comical was her reply. “If you truly cared, you’d be asking after my health instead of demanding my intentions.”

She scowled, guiltily. “You seem fine enough to rant at me.”

Dear Lord in heaven, had she always been this awful? What had Evelyn called her? Lady dragon. Well, the designation fit. He stared down at the papers before him, astonished that he’d ever put up with such twaddle. Now more than ever he had no time for such nonsense and could not have his mother interfering with his delicate plans. He came to a decision. “Mother, I realize that you have your needs and they must be met.”
Or you’ll muddle up everyone else’s existence.

She harrumphed. “I’m glad you see the error of your ways.”

“Most assuredly. So much so, I am sending you off to the fort in Wales, where you can satisfy your need to be queen of the castle.”

“But…that’s so far away, and Audrey is coming out this Season, and…”

“Aunt Leonore and I will take care of Audrey. You have your wants, and they must come first. I absolutely insist, and I will not take no for an answer. Stanley!”

“Yes, my lord.” The man must have been hovering by the door, listening to every word. Good. Let everyone understand who held the reins in this household.

“I want the servants to pull all the stops to get my mother packed and out of the house on the morrow.”

“The morrow…” she sputtered.

“We will move heaven and earth, my lord.” The butler was having difficulty containing his delighted smile.

“Excellent. I want nothing to interfere.”

“It is my pleasure to serve you, my lord.”

Justin nodded, once again focusing on the papers on his desk, effectively dismissing them both. His mother gave a curt nod of her head and glided from the room, looking as if she’d eaten a sour grape.

He reread his missive.
Your Grace, I write to you on a matter of the utmost urgency….

S
ully knew he was dying, and he was not much put out by the thought. The gut-wrenching aches all over his body had faded to a distant roar of pain, and the piercing shards no longer tore at his chest every time he breathed. He heard a faint wheezing sound and realized that it was his wretched body struggling for air through his smashed and broken nose. He’d grown almost accustomed to the bitter metallic taste of blood in his mouth and no longer could find the energy to care about what it was exactly his tormentors wanted from him. He felt the oddest floating sensation and welcomed the blessed blackness.

Consciousness winked out. He floated along until black turned to gray and gray into shadow. In the distance, a hazy glow of lantern light peeked through the swirling fog. The light bobbed and swayed, accompanied by the sound of shuffling boot steps and the clanking of a rattle. It must be a Charlie, prowling the district for unrest, Sully realized. But this was Seven Dials. No watchman dared go out alone in the deadly London neighborhood for fear he would never make it home alive. In this brutal quarter a man would be killed simply for the coat on his back or the boots on his feet. Someone was whistling. It was a hauntingly familiar tune. Curious, Sully followed the receding light as it ebbed through the gloom.

The dense fog suddenly parted, and he stood before a large wooden door lined with metal bars and hinges. A board hung high above the threshold, squeaking loudly as it swung in the vaporous wind. He shrugged his coat closer, warding off a sudden chill.

Although the paint was faded and scarred, the sign clearly depicted a rose and a crown. The Rose and Crown. Sully stared at the closed doors to the familiar backwater where the ale was weak, the barmaids surly, and the customers categorically belligerent. A mighty gust of wind blew at his back, pushing him forward. He opened the door and stepped out from the gloomy night into dimness of another kind. Darkness lined with lingering shadows.

“Ah, there you are, my good man.”

Phillip sat at the second table on the right, healthy and affable, with a long dark coat draped across his chest and a tall tankard of ale sitting on the table before him.

Sully stepped forward, thrilled to see Phillip alive. He gripped his dearest friend’s muscled arm. “Phillip! Holy Jasus, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” Suddenly a memory filtered into his consciousness. A pool of death drowning his dear mentor. His darling Evelyn draped in mourning black. Pain, agonizing shards of torture piercing his legs, tearing at his chest. He could not breathe. Just as quickly, the recollections faded into nothingness, leaving behind only a fuzzy feeling of discomfiture.

“Sit down, my old friend,” Phillip invited as he waved an elegant hand at the seat across from him.

Sully could barely contain his joy as he dropped into the rickety wooden chair. “By Gad, it’s good to see you again.”

A wiry barmaid shuffled over, her ratty hair a mass of snarls. She pushed a clump of dark tangles from her eyes, exposing a haggard face with slashing scars lining her hollowed cheeks. “Drinkin’?”

Phillip waved her off. “He’ll not tarry.”

She shrugged and shuffled off to the bar.

“But I’m so thirsty,” Sully complained, eyeing the large tankard. He couldn’t remember the last time a drink had passed his parched lips. “Just a nip to ease my throat.” He grabbed for Phillip’s tankard, but his friend negligently swatted his hand away.

“You don’t tip from this particular spirit, Sully. It’ll be the death of you.” Phillip leaned forward; his familiar, striking face, which reminded Sullivan so much of his Evelyn, was banked in earnest appeal. “Listen to me, Sully. We don’t have much time and I need you to go back. Leave this place and get on with your business,
our business
.”

Sully leaned back, and the wooden chair screeched in protest. In the dim light, he took a long, hard look at his beloved mentor, a whisper of doubt unfurling in his belly. “What is this place, Phillip?”

“I need you to get on. Evelyn needs you, and so do I.”

Chills slithered up Sullivan’s arms and raced down his back. “Where are we?”

Phillip looked away and lifted the tankard. He gulped, not meeting his friend’s eyes.

“Phillip?” Sullivan pressed his lips together, fear roiling in his gut.

His friend dropped the mug and looked up. His wise brown eyes met Sully’s, and he slowly shook his head.

And he knew, he just
knew
.

A weight of sorrow tinged with fear pressed down on Sully’s chest. He noted now what he had not noticed before. The blood at the corners of Phillip’s mouth, the ghostly tinge to his cheeks. Sully leaned over and pulled at the cloak. Blood covered Phillip’s torso, stemming from a hole in his side. He looked under the table. Phillip’s chair sat in a wide pool of black blood. “You’re dead. It was real.”

“Go back and finish our business. There’s justice to be done.”

“Why? Evelyn seems to have found a new life. We’ve taught her well, she can take care of herself.” He looked down. Surprisingly, his body showed no trace of assault. Was it poison that had brought his end? He tried hard to remember, but nothing came, only a sense of nothingness, of being lost.

“I need you to go back, Sullivan.
Now
.”

Phillip only used his proper name when he was really pressing. Still, Sully demurred, “Even if I did, what could I possibly do at this point? I must be in sorry shape indeed to be meeting up with you here.”

“Remember when you came to me that first time? Albert had just died, and you thought you had no purpose in life. That there was nothing left worth living for.”

A smile tugged at Sully’s lips as he recalled being so lost. Phillip, however, had helped him find his way. “You showed me how to serve others, my country. How to be part of something bigger than myself.”

“Yes, and we were a great team, you and I. We could change the positions of monarchs, sway petty-minded bureaucrats, bring peace to a world that sometimes felt mad in its chaos.”

“And look at what good it did us.” Gazing at Phillip’s wan face, soberly he choked out, “You’re dead.”

“Come, Sully, you never give up, and even if I’m not around to keep you in line—”

Sully snorted and crossed his arms. “I was the one who kept you in line, Phillip.” It was a familiar refrain between the comrades.

His friend smiled, and it was a warm, wonderful thing.

Sully ran his hands up and down his thighs, feeling the thin wool of his pants. He suddenly felt driven, itching to take action. He needed to be somewhere, doing something.
Now
.

“Off you go now, Sully. Evelyn needs you, and I just cannot let that bastard win.”

“But what about you?”

“I’ve got to move along.” He looked down at the tankard in front of him. “But I think I’ll have one more nip before I go.”

What was that whistling? He looked over his shoulder at the door.

In the distance came a gruff shout. “You fool! You were supposed to get answers from the man, not send him to his maker!”

He turned back and Phillip was gone, the skeletal wooden chair sitting empty. The tankard of ale had vanished.

A flash of white blinded him, tearing away the veil of darkness and crashing reality down on his head. His skull ached; each breath was piercing agony, and the jolts of anguish tearing at his arms and legs made him long for unconsciousness.

He opened his swollen eyelids a slit and saw the glow of lantern light hovering over his head, beneath a burly, dark-swathed arm.

“We cannot move him in this condition, and yet two safe houses have already been compromised.” He heard the crack of a hand on flesh. “You’ve got the finesse of a bull in heat, Helderby.”

Helderby. Sully gritted his teeth and almost smiled. He had a debt to repay and could almost taste the vengeance on his bloodied lips.

“And tell me what good he will be to us dead if the Amherst girl won’t cooperate.”

Evelyn. He tried to place that voice, but it was growing harder to keep conscious.

“I’ll call for the doctor. Stay away from him, do you hear? There’s too much riding on this for you to muck the whole thing up with your ineptitude.”

As a cloak of blessed sleep dropped over Sully’s awareness, his last thought was a benediction of thanks to his mentor, who’d always shown him the way.

J
ustin awoke from his nap with a cold sweat blanketing his entire body. Chills crept up and down his spine as he recalled the terrifying nightmare about Evelyn. His muscles were clenched tight, and his breath was coming in short gasps. Awake, he thanked heaven for the familiar pierce in his chest and the throb in his temple; they took him back to reality. Staring at the inlaid woodwork on the ceiling of his bedchamber, he waited for the beating of his heart to slow from a canter to a trot.

Gradually he sat up, unclenched his hands, and inhaled a shaky breath. In his dream, Evelyn had been a traitor, come to destroy his country. The colonel had charged him with killing her to save the lives of countless Englishmen. Justin had held the gun pointed at her heart, being called upon to do his duty and murder the one woman he knew was his salvation. She had stared at him, unflinching, her sparkling blue eyes contemptuous of his betrayal. His finger had slowly been pressing down on the trigger when he had suddenly snapped out of the dream.

His mouth tasted like rotted cheese, and he leaned over and took a sip of the tepid tea by his bedside. He pulled the chamber pot from under the bed and spit. This was a nasty business indeed.

He leaned over and yanked open the drawer to his nightstand, wanting to see her handwriting on the single page he’d taken from the cabin. He always kept it near. Something clattered and rolled to the front of the drawer, undulating slowly to a stop with a clank against the wood. He lifted out the metal. A shiny gold ring with two clasped hands carved around the band.

“What the…?”

His grandmother’s love token. It was a reminder of all he had done to Evelyn and all he yet still owed her.

“Whatever the future holds for us,”
he had told her.
“I want you to think well of me.”

How could she think well of him when he had accomplished so little to help her thus far? He was getting nowhere with his sources, was deplorably unable to get the warrant quashed and still had no idea where they held Sully. The magistrate who’d executed the warrant for Evelyn’s arrest had suddenly become ill, and no other person seemed able to handle his matters. He would have thought his title could have garnered him at least that minor accomplishment.

Finally, desperate and hoping beyond hope that Wheaton was still honorable, Justin had tried to convince the colonel that Evelyn was not involved in anything nefarious. It had made no difference in the old man’s determination to see her arrested, yet doing so had exposed Justin’s partiality. If he’d had any doubts before, Justin now knew that Wheaton would not trust him with any information regarding the conspiracy, Sully, or Evelyn. For all intents and purposes, Justin had been cut loose and was alone in his quest for justice.

A wave of fear blanketed his heart so painfully that he fell backward on the solid mattress. He could not fail. Closing his eyes, he remembered Evelyn’s soft skin, her fresh lavender scent, and the tinkling harmony of her laugh, and he recollected her misty gaze when she spoke lovingly of her father and Sully. She was the most remarkable woman he had ever known. He refused to let her down.

Sitting up, a feeling of sureness in himself cast all of his doubts to the wind. He slipped the golden sphere into his pocket as a talisman of his mission and the woman who held his heart.

“Ah, pardon me, my lord, but there are two men waiting to see you downstairs.” Sylvester stepped deeper into the chamber. “Misters Clontz and Montag.”

“Who?”

“They are the Bow Street Runners retained by my lady to…ah…assist in your return.”

“Really?” An idea took shape in his mind. Perhaps all of his cards had yet to be played.

Sylvester’s cheeks reddened. “Although it is not my place to say, my lord, I might add that it seems the men have not yet been paid for their services.”

Well, Justin knew a way to allow them to earn their keep and then some. “Help me dress, Sylvester. We’ve much to do.”

Always efficient, his man rushed to obey.

Evelyn held the golden ring up to the light, marveling how such a tiny thing could come to mean so much. But exactly what, she was not sure. Was it a forerunner to another betrayal? Did it mean Justin wanted her to think well of him after he’d scarred her heart beyond redemption?

“It’s a trap, I tell you,” Angel voiced her fears as he paced the small square of the room, his booted feet making the floorboards creak with his every step.

“How did he find us?”

“The pub is a rendezvous point used by many. He took a chance leaving the message there.”

“Justin told me they’d had men following you before. Perhaps they observed you frequenting it then?”

“Regardless, I will not return there again.” He scowled. “And don’t fret, I took extensive precautions making my way back here.”

The candlelight in the cheap, barren room shimmered on the gold ring in her hand. She was tired of the tangled web of her emotions, tired of this relentless second-guessing. She wanted to know once and for all whose side of this madness Justin played on. She had doubts about his allegiance, doubts about his honor and, yes, doubts about his treachery. Part of her could not accept his betrayal. Hope lingered, making her want to tear her hair out. She would go mad if she did not brand him friend or foe once and for all. And if he was the enemy, so be it. He would lead her to Sully or die for his failure.

A sense of inevitability settled over her. She dropped the ring onto the scarred tabletop and watched it slowly undulate to a clattering stop. “I think we should meet him.”

Angel waved his hand. “You are not exactly thinking with a clear head when it comes to the marquis,
caro.
No. Too much depends on trusting him.”

“You just finished telling me how we couldn’t continue searching the safe houses for fear that the authorities will lie in wait for us. What choice do we have?”

Scowling, he ran his hand through his raven hair. “I am beginning to think we’d be better off departing the country.”

“I will not leave Sully.”

“He would not want you to place yourself in peril for him.”

“He’s not here to have a voice in the matter. I’m an adult making my own decisions. If you feel you cannot abide by them, I thank you sincerely for your help and will not think any less of you if you leave.” She held her breath. She wanted him to know he was not beholden to her, yet the thought of being alone…

He growled deep in his throat, reminding her more than ever of an angry leopard. “Do not speak foolishness,
caro
.”

Relief swamped her as she let out a long breath. “We will meet Justin at the appointed place.”

“And if it’s a trap?”

“Let’s hope when the man took a bullet for me it meant more than a mere strategy.” Sighing, she rubbed her hand over her eyes. “I must confess, part of me yearns to believe he had his reasons for leaving.”

“It is not inconceivable.”

“What?” Her mouth almost dropped open.

He shrugged. “Even if he had claimed to be able to stop Napoleon himself, I never would have let him go.”

“What are you saying?”

“It was the only way he could get back to London. To do good or mischief.”

“How do we find out which?”

“We meet him.” Angel scratched his chin as he did when deep in thought. “Yet we do not have to come into the encounter as lambs to the slaughter.”

“Well, there’s no need to take unnecessary chances.” Resolve flooding through her, she asked, “What do you have in mind?”

Ghostly gray fog swirled around the damp mausoleum, and for the tenth time in an hour Justin wondered at his choosing such a morbid place to meet Evelyn. He shifted on the hard cold marble, squinting his eyes into the gloom as he caught a hint of movement in the corner of the crypt. He lifted the low-lit lantern, illuminating only about two paces forward. Against the white marble a rat peered up at him, wrinkled its whiskers, squealed, and scurried off behind the tomb.

The bell in the nearby church chimed the hour of two, and he was glad he had thought to wear his warmest cloak for the rendezvous. He pulled the wool closer around him and sniffed the stale air that was barely freshened by the thin slits near the ceiling. Peering through them, he could see only the black night. Even the moon deigned to take cover this grim night.

He ignored the nervous flutter in his middle and prayed that Evelyn trusted him enough to come. She was late. It did not bode well. He stood, anxious to move and warm the blood in his numbing legs. He paced the oblong antechamber, his boots scraping along the stone floor.

The slight scuffle of footsteps on gravel emanated from outside. He shifted closer to the slit on the high wall. The stone pressed cold through the thin leather of his gloves. The exterior metal gate creaked as it was pushed open. His breath caught in his throat and his heart hammered. He pulled the pistol from his pocket, ready for anything, but praying he was being overcautious.

Three clanks hammered against the iron-studded door. He stepped close. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Who goes there?”

“Angel Arolas and Evelyn Amherst,” came the smooth inflection of the Spaniard.

Justin unbarred the heavy door and stepped back, his pistol unwavering in his hand. The heavy door groaned open. Two black-cloaked figures stepped inside. The one on the right wore a long, dark mourning veil.

Justin’s heart sank. Anger etched with deep remorse as he held up the pistol and accused, “What do you take me for? A fool?”

Arolas’s wary eyes scanned the chamber and then settled back on him. “What do you mean?”

“That’s not Evelyn.”

The Spaniard swiftly pulled his gloved hands from inside his dark cloak, a pistol in each one. The figure next to Arolas shrugged off the black veil and cloak. Instead of Evelyn, her man Ismet stood ready with a long, menacing dagger slicing through the air with a hiss.

“We needed to know this was not a trap,” Arolas commented tightly as he balanced on his toes, ready for a confrontation. “Is it?”

Justin had to begrudgingly admire the defensive tactic. Anyone who did not know the graceful glide of Evelyn’s step or the fact that her head came just to Justin’s shoulder might have missed the ruse. Although jealous to the core of the handsome Spaniard, a part of Justin was thankful Evelyn had such vigilant friends.

“This is no trap. I have a man in a coach by the eastern gates. Otherwise, I am alone in here.” He did not bother to mention the Bow Street Runners in the crypt next door. He eyed the fighting men warily, realizing there was only one way to proceed. He slowly un-cocked his pistol and relaxed his stance.

With Ismet watching, Arolas turned and paced the chamber with catlike grace. He peered into each corner of the crypt and behind the central tomb. The man moved with the natural agility of a predator. Apparently concluding that all was as it should be, Arolas leisurely put his firearms in the inside pockets of his cloak.

Ismet nodded to the man, then silently slipped out the heavy door. It closed with a grating thud.

Justin could just barely hear Ismet’s soft footfalls on the mossy grass outside. “Is she coming?” He slipped his pistol into the exterior pocket of his coat.

“In a moment.”

They waited in silence, an owl hooting off in the distance.

Arolas said softly, “An interesting place to meet, yet ingenious. Quiet, away from prying eyes, we can hear anyone coming near.”

Justin accepted the tribute with a nod. “There is only one entrance.” He tried to ignore the jealousy nipping at his gut as he imagined the Spaniard and Evelyn together. Even he could recognize that the Spaniard was too good-looking by half. Guardedly, he asked, “How is she?”

“She is strong, our Evelyn.”

He did not miss the possessiveness in the man’s voice. “I heard that two of the safe houses were compromised. It was you.”

Arolas shrugged. He stared hard at Justin. “You said in your missive you could return Sully. Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how—?”

“I will explain everything when Evelyn arrives.”

The exterior gate squeaked. Justin’s heart began to hammer once more, and he realized that he was gambling his entire future on the lady’s delicate footfalls that trod near.

The iron-studded door groaned open, and a black-cloaked figure stepped inside. He would know that graceful glide anywhere. A wave of relief swamped him till he felt light-headed. “Evelyn,” he breathed.

She slipped off her dark hood, and he soaked in the sight of her. Her coiled golden hair barely shone in the dim lamplight. Her lush lips were pressed tight and dark circles still banked her eyes, yet the brilliance of that blue gaze pierced his heart.

The corners of his lips rose, but he was too overwhelmed to smile. “I’m so glad you came.”

She was eyeing him as if to discern all his secrets from his gaze. “I see you did not kill yourself in your mad dash for escape.”

“I’m sorry for leaving you so abruptly, Evelyn, but Arolas would never have let me go.”

“In my country, when a man steals your horse, he owes you something of equal value in return.” Arolas’s dark eyes glittered. “Your life, perhaps?”

“We have yet to ascertain if that will be enough,” Evelyn added bitterly.

Her anger tore at his heart, but he had to try to convince her he was true. “I apologize. But I had to go. It was the best course of action available to us, and I was not about to let you talk me out of it or let him stop me.”

“Us?” Arolas raised his brow. “We do not know of whom you speak.”

“I had to try to get the warrant for Evelyn’s arrest quashed. The only way to do that was to appear whole before the magistrate who granted it.”

“And is this done?”

“I am having difficulties.”

“Aren’t we all?” Arolas countered.

“I also had to try to convince my superior that Evelyn is not involved in any French plot. And to endeavor to find Sully. I could do none of those things traipsing around the countryside while we tried to keep a Spaniard, two Turks, and a couple of English gentry from being captured. We were too obvious, and yet to return to London was too risky for Evelyn. I had to go alone.”