All Men Are Rogues (22 page)

“You were never very good at taking orders, Justin,” came a familiarly disdainful voice.

“I insisted, Wheaton,” Devane replied jauntily. “I felt the need for some fresh air.”

“Well, you can’t get any here, old man,” Wheaton retorted. “This river smells as if the whole of London pissed in it.”

The two boats bumped together with a resounding thud.

Helderby handed Justin a rope. “Tie us up.”

Justin would have liked to have tied up the bloody thug and his master and demanded some answers. Instead, he silently knotted the twine through a hook, binding the crafts.

Joined, the two boats drifted downstream in the speedy current. The water lapped loudly against the paired bows, banging them together. Helderby moved close, pitching the crafts. The lout smelled of ale and grime. He moved his beefy hands up and down Justin’s coat, searching for weapons, and then he checked Devane. He motioned to Wheaton and then sat on the far bench, watching them guardedly.

“Nice rendezvous point,” Devane commented as if they were at a ball. “From the Scarelli incident?”

“It was my inspiration,” Wheaton rejoined.

“Tell me what you want from Evelyn,” Justin growled, impatient with the games.

Devane sent Justin an admonishing look but added, “Yes, it seems that you are in need of something that only the lovely Miss Amherst can provide. Something about vengeance, I understand.”

“I’m only asking for what is rightfully mine,” Wheaton answered defensively.

“What do you believe you deserve?” his former mentor asked.

“You mean besides the gallows?” Justin murmured.

“How’d you like to be the one soon meeting your maker, Justin?” the colonel retorted. “It’s not a comfortable position, I can assure you.”

“Do you fear prosecution?” Devane asked, interest interlacing his question.

“The only thing I fear is not meeting my goals.”

“Which are?” Justin prompted.

“Amherst stole my wife, my knighthood, and my treasure. Since I cannot get the first two, I insist on the last. I deserve it.”

“What did you do to merit Diedra’s love?” Devane queried. “Or the king’s designation? What makes you believe you are that worthy?”

Even in the gloom, Justin could make out the redness infusing the colonel’s pale face. “If that bloody knave Amherst had never been born, it all would have been mine!”

The old gent shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Water under the bridge at this point, if you ask me.”

“Well, no one’s askin’ you!” retorted Helderby. “Enough chitchat, let’s get on with our business! We want the jewels!”

Wheaton sent a warning look to his hired dog. “I’ll do the talking, Helderby. You seem unable to communicate other than with your fists, which will lead us absolutely nowhere!”

The burly oaf grunted but kept his peace.

“I’d always suspected the sultan of Kanibar gave Amherst something special after the kidnapping episode—a fact I confirmed right before killing Amherst.”

Devane hissed, “How could you?”

“The man had plagued me for long enough; I was not about to let him have the final triumph and outlast me on this earth.” Wheaton grinned, and it was an ugly thing. “Besides, killing him had an added advantage; I found out about the magical necklace of Kanibar. It’s so powerful, it’s bloody legendary.”

“And where is this necklace?” Justin asked.

“That’s what I need you to find out. Amherst swore to the heavens that his daughter didn’t know anything about it. And Sullivan doesn’t seem to know anything either. But someone has to know how to get their hands on it, and I’m betting the chit can figure it out, even if she doesn’t think she knows where it is.”

Devane shifted in the seat, using his gold-topped cane for leverage. “I’m disgusted with your actions, Wheaton. Why would you risk everything for a piece of jewelry?”

Wheaton’s hands began to shake, and it looked as though he wanted to throttle his former mentor. “It’s so powerful, kings would start wars over it! I deserve it!”

“Evelyn didn’t deserve to have her life ripped apart over a bloody necklace!” To his horror, Justin’s voice had risen to a shout. “For a lousy piece of jewelry you perverted my allegiance to my country into a mockery!”

“Bloody sappy,” Helderby mumbled.

“Shut up, Helderby.” Wheaton scowled.

Justin was ready to jump the bastard, but Devane stopped him with his long cane. The old man shook his head.

The waves lapped loudly against the bows in the tense silence. After a long moment, the old gent eyed his former apprentice carefully, and then pushed himself up with his cane. The little crafts rocked with his every shuffle forward. “What’s really going on, Tristram?”

At that moment, Justin realized that he had never known his superior’s Christian name. He was so thankful he’d thought to bring along Devane.

Wheaton looked over at Helderby and then tottered closer to the other craft. He leaned near his former mentor. “I’m dying,” he murmured so softly that the echo was barely carried along in the muddy waters.

“And this is how you choose to go out?” Devane huffed. “Destroying a lifetime of exemplary service with murder and mayhem?”

Wheaton snarled but kept his peace.

The elder gent leaned on his cane, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Dear heavens, you’re cross because you wanted to meet your maker with a bullet or a poisonous dart or while safeguarding the king.”

The colonel hammered his fist into his chest. “You’re damned right I did! My bloody body betrayed me!”

“What’s wrong with you?” Justin asked, fascinated by the depths of this man’s diseased outlook.

He coughed. “Cancer. I even went to that new Cancer Hospital. The butcher of a surgeon wants to try to cut it out, but I’ll hire my own undertaker before I let him carve me open like a bloody turkey.”

“I can’t blame you there, given that few survive the surgery,” Devane agreed. “But to destroy everything in the name of settling up long-dead scores that are ill-founded at best…”

“It’s not
just
about old scores,” Wheaton replied defensively. “The necklace is supposed to be magical. I’ve done some research, and the thing’s been known to heal the sick….”

“You cannot believe that!” Devane scoffed.

“It’s not just about me. The bloody quacks have raked me through the coals, taken everything I own. I have nothing left to leave—”

“Ah, you mean to take care of Lee and Edwina and her brood?” the old gent charged.

“How—?” Wheaton’s shaking intensified. “You can’t hurt them! They have nothing!”

Devane waved his hand. “They have you. And if you’d have come to me I would have provided for them—”

“Enough with the damned chitchat already!” Helderby roared. “Give us the blasted necklace!” He pulled a pistol from under his dark cloak and aimed it at Justin’s chest. They were so close that even in the darkness Justin could discern the black hole of the barrel.

“Put that thing away, you idiot!” Wheaton jeered. “If he had it, we wouldn’t be meeting here in the first instance!”

“I’m tired of following your stupid plans! A whole lot of bloody nonsense from a useless dying bastard.” With a flick of his wrist, Helderby triggered the lever, and a shattering blast shot from the firearm. Wheaton flew backwards, crashing into the water with a titanic splash.

With lightning efficiency, Devane whipped his gold top from his cane and ripped a sword free. He swung it through the air with a hiss, cutting the rope connecting the two crafts. Justin quickly shoved the other boat away and snuffed out the lantern before Helderby had the chance to grab another pistol.

The lout stood in the rocking craft, screaming, “I’ll get that bloody bitch and her bleeding necklace! Don’t think you can protect her from me! I’ve still got those two blokes and I’m not afraid to kill ’em!” His figure faded into the darkness as he was swallowed by the gloom.

Gurgles could be heard from paces away, and Justin yanked the oars from their sockets and heaved toward the place where the colonel had fallen.

Devane leaned against the bow, searching for his former apprentice. “Tristram! Tristram!”

They scoured the vicinity vainly for what felt like hours, finally giving up after an exhaustive hunt.

Funereal silence pervaded the craft as Justin rowed them toward the pier, each splash of the oars like a hammer crashing into his heart. Sweat lined his brow and his underarms as he knifed the oars through the murky waters. His palms burned and his back ached, but it was the despair in his heart that caused his grief. He had accomplished little this night other than to unleash Helderby on Evelyn’s dearest friends.

“The poor sop thought he had it coming to him,” Devane commented.

“He had a lot more coming to him than a ball in his chest and a muddy death.”

The elderly gent eyed Justin with interest. “What do you believe he deserved?”

“To be stripped of his commission.” Lift, heave, drop. The water splashed. “Public trial. The gallows.” Lift, heave, drop. The water splashed.

“So the humiliation would be his retribution?”

“That and a swing in the hangman’s noose.”

“And what of Edwina Thomas and her brood? Should they be made to pay?”

Slicing the oars through the foul-smelling water, Justin shook his head. “They cannot help who they’re related to.”

“Yet Wheaton had Miss Amherst pay for her father’s supposed crimes.”

“Wheaton had cracked.”

The older gent nodded, sighing. “Diseased in mind, body, and spirit.”

“The man played me for a fool,” Justin cried bitterly. “I’m so bloody angry with myself for not seeing it sooner.”

“How could you have known?”

Guilt and anger fused together, making Justin see red. “My brother was sick in the mind. I, of all people, should’ve noticed the signs.” His hands tightened, and the rough wood bit into his palms. “For both of them.”

Devane leaned forward. “And what would you have done had you known?”

Justin shouted, rage making his aching arms shake with his exertions. “Something!”

“Ah, to believe so much in one’s own power. It’s a gift and a great burden.”

To Justin’s amazement the elder gentleman withdrew a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and raised it to his craggy eyes as tears spilled out the corners. “I loved that fool like a son. You don’t think that I’m blaming myself for not being there for him? For not helping him as he descended to his doom?”

“What could you have done?”

“Held his hand.” Devane sighed, a haunted look overwhelming his saddened eyes. “One thing I’ve learned in my long life, sometimes it’s just as important to simply be there when times are tough. It makes all the difference in the world.”

J
ustin hobbled down the long, carpeted hallway, every muscle in his body throbbing. In tandem with the torrent of pain, his every limb shook with exhaustion. It had been a terrible night, and this morning was about to get horrifically worse. He was going to have to break the news to Evelyn that he’d unleashed Helderby on her beloved friends. His legs felt as if they had anchors attached to his boots, weighing him down and keeping him from making it to his final destination, Evelyn’s bedchamber. He almost cackled at the notion of wanting to avoid the one place he’d been dreaming of entering for weeks.

Finally he stood before the awesome portal, slowly raising his hand to knock lightly on the wood. He waited a breathless moment and then knocked again, this time with more insistence.

“Evelyn?”

Stanley had informed him from his perch by the front stairs that Evelyn waited in her bedchamber. She had insisted that Justin report to her posthaste upon his return.

Fear clutched at his gut. He ripped open the door and frantically scanned the room. The fire had long since burned down to ashes, the drapes billowed in the wind of the open windows, heralding the shimmering dawn, and Evelyn was nowhere in sight. Justin’s heart flipped in his chest. He charged over to the window to peer out into the burgeoning morning. As the birds chirped cheerfully, the sun’s golden rays rose over the city in anticipation of a new day. Justin wanted to scream at the bloody birds to stop their incessant merriment; doom was at hand. His dearest Evelyn was gone.

His mouth was parched dry, and his blood was pumping so powerfully that he thought it would explode through the top of his hammering head. He turned to race downstairs and sound the alarm, when he spotted her pale dainty feet, lying near the bed.

“Dear Lord in heaven!” He ran to her and lifted her in his arms. “Dear God, please don’t let Evelyn die!” He pulled her onto his lap and pressed her face to his chest. “Speak to me, Evelyn!”

“I can’t breathe, Justin,” she mumbled.

“Is it poison? A wound?”

“You’re crushing my face with your coat.” She pushed slightly away from him and blinked. “You’re back.”

Relief flooded through him so powerfully that he almost forgot to breathe himself. “I thought…Why were you lying on the floor?”

“I was praying.” Rubbing her eyes, she yawned. “I must’ve fallen asleep.”

He suddenly realized that she was clad in a thin nightdress of the sheerest cotton, and even with her shift he could discern the exquisite outlines of her womanly form.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” she murmured and raised her hand to his face, tenderly stroking his rough, whiskered cheek.

For a moment, he could not speak; he was so overwhelmed by the events of the night and by his relief that she was well. Closing his eyes, he turned his mouth into her palm and kissed it reverently.

She wrapped her other hand around the base of his neck and pulled his lips down to hers. It was a tender reunion, joyfully welcoming. He loved her so intensely he wanted to weep; there were not enough ways in the world to show her how much.

He savored her honeyed mouth and relished the gentle caress of her tongue with his. The scent of lavender floated around her like a flowery cloud, giving him a respite from the Thames’s stench of blood and grime. Although he knew it was folly, he cherished this moment, for he feared the moment he would have to tell her what had happened. As he stroked her back, he could feel her shapely curves beneath the flimsy nightdress, making him want her so powerfully that he pushed aside all misgivings and gave himself to the joyous passion of their pressing lips. She was sweeter than any gift of the gods; she was his Evelyn.

Her fingers laced through his hair, gently massaging his tightly corded neck. He felt the tension in his body ease; his relief was so profound that tears burned his weary eyes.

She pulled back and stared at her damp hand, then at his face. “Are you crying?”

He swallowed, hard. “I’m just so glad to be back,” he murmured hoarsely.

She smiled. “No happier than I. Although you smell like a trough.” Still, her arms tightened around him, making him feel loved.

A sudden hunger overcame him, for life, for her love. He would grab this moment in time and savor it. He lowered his mouth and found those silky lips. A small moan escaped her, and he captured her mouth in his.

Pressing hot kisses along her nape, he made quick work of her fastenings, dropping the soft nightdress to the floor. His eyes feasted on the sweeps and valleys of her curves.

“You’re magnificent,” he murmured, lowering his head to her luscious breast. His lips grazed the nipple as his hand cupped the delicate flesh in his palm. He sucked gently, relishing her heat and the fires she ignited in him.

His other hand caressed down to her waist, over the generous curve of her hips, to her rounded bottom, kneading the soft flesh. How he loved the feel of her.

Her back arched and she writhed beneath him.

His lips found the valley of her belly, trailing hot kisses down to her ivory thighs. She was panting. “Please, Justin.” She spread her legs, inviting him. He needed no further prompting.

Pressing wet kisses inside her thighs, he tasted the sweetness of her innermost core. She moaned as he slid his finger inside her. She was burning hot with desire. He pressed his lips to her tight nub. She was panting, grabbing at the bedding over her head and pressing her eyes tightly closed. Her back arched and she cried out. Her muscles spasmed around him and she came in a heated rush.

His motions stilled and he gave her a chance to catch her breath. He pressed small kisses on the curve of her belly, on the thin lines of her rib cage, on her bountiful breasts, tracing up her neck and finding her mouth once more.

His body joined hers, and it felt like a homecoming. She was pliant and warm, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him deeper inside. His exhausted body found new vigor. He pumped himself into her, loving her with his body as much as with his heart. With a final thrust, he spilled his seed inside her. His heart was beating wildly and his breath still coming in short gasps, when he slowly withdrew and pulled her into the crook of his arm. Panting and spent, he savored a moment of contentment, never wanting it to end.

Somehow he found the strength to utter the words, “Wheaton is dead.” He almost couldn’t believe it himself.

She froze.

“Helderby shot him.”

“So it’s over,” she whispered.

“Helderby got away…swearing he would continue Wheaton’s quest.”

Abruptly sitting up, she moved away from him and wrapped her arms around herself. Not looking at him, she clenched and unclenched her hands. “Quest for what?” she cried.

How he longed to extinguish the torment from her brow. He hated that she wouldn’t meet his eye. Yet he couldn’t blame her; it was all his fault. Sitting up, he adjusted his clothing. “A bloody jeweled necklace.”

She blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly. Wheaton claimed it had some sort of magical powers, was worth a fortune—”

“I don’t have this necklace you speak of!” She turned to him, those sparkling sky blue eyes imploring. “What are we going to do?”

A lightness infused his chest. She still wanted his help. She didn’t wish him to disappear for his blundering.

At the look on his face, she grasped his hand and squeezed. “Stop bludgeoning yourself, Justin. This is not your fault.”

“At least Wheaton, cracked as he was, played by some semblance of rules. Helderby is a beast, and I’ve unleashed him on Sully and Arolas.”

“Do you think he’ll kill them?”

“They are no more important to him than his next beer, perhaps even less so.”

“Then we will just have to kill him first,” she stated grimly, determination permeating her beautiful features.

Reaching over, he ran his calloused hands over her silky, golden hair. “You shouldn’t have to bear it all.”

Turning her head, she pressed a kiss into his palm. “None of us should.”

A hard knock pounded on the door.

Justin threw Evelyn’s nightdress to her and called out, “Give us a moment.” She quickly pulled on the clothing.

Straightening his garments, Justin rose and strode to the door, saying, “Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it.”

Stanley stood just outside the threshold. “My lord. There’s a man downstairs requesting an audience. A Mr. Tuttle.”

“At this ungodly hour?”

“He says it’s vitally important.”

Clenching his hands, Justin murmured, “It had better be. Let’s go.”

“Not with you, my lord. He specifically asks for Miss Amherst.”

“We will both be down in a few moments.”

Stanley nodded and marched down the hallway. Watching him go, Justin realized he could not worry about the rumors belowstairs; they could not get any worse.

He stepped back into Evelyn’s chamber.

She spun, adjusting the wrapper around her lovely shoulders. “What could Mr. Tuttle want?”

He shook his head, mourning the end to their intimacy.

Gliding across the room, she leaned up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Don’t look so glum, darling.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Perhaps it’s good news.”

Smiling determinedly, she swept toward the door. Justin had to marvel at her. No matter what got her down, she was always ready to find the light at the end of the tunnel. She never let herself be overburdened…. Again, that pesky thought nagged at his consciousness, nimbly slipping away before revealing itself. He rubbed his temple, impatient for it to come, yet unable to press his weary mind further.

He straightened his aching shoulders and fairly stumbled toward the door.

The bald little man was shaking with apparent anxiety as Evelyn strode into the drawing room. In an instant Evelyn took in his disheveled brown coat with a long tear at the elbow, his drooping left stocking just below his knee britches, his scuffed brown leather shoes, and his skewed gold-rimmed spectacles. As usual, he appeared ready to jump like a frightened rabbit.

“What happened to you, Mr. Tuttle?”

“I did it, Miss Amherst,” he stated proudly. Only then did she note the squared shoulders, the confidence gleaming from behind his smudged eyeglasses, and the quirk of his grinning, reedy lips.

“What did you do, Mr. Tuttle?”

“I found the letter that pig Marlboro was keeping from you.”

“Say again?”

He hobbled toward her, and the sagging stocking slipped down to his ankle, exposing a milky white calf with a long red slash of blood. “I knew Marlboro was holding out on you, even though he got the go-ahead to release your father’s estate. I confronted the bugger, but he brushed me off. So tonight I broke into the office and found it.” His hand shook as he reached into his coat and pulled out a thick beige paper.

“What is that?” Justin limped into the room. He looked so weary that Evelyn was tempted to make him get off his aching leg and into bed, but she knew he’d get little sleep there. If anything needed to be done, Justin would be the first to volunteer. His bravery knew no bounds, and she could not have treasured him more for it. Her heart warmed, thanking the heavens for his safe return. She just prayed she could keep him alive and well until the end of this vile treachery.

Her thoughts were suddenly diverted by the sight of her name scratched boldly across the parchment. She rushed forward. “That’s Father’s handwriting.”

The man blinked up at Justin from behind his spectacles and thrust the paper behind his back. “Ah, can I assume, my lord, that you’ve altered your position regarding Miss Amherst’s rights?” The poor soul was no match for the marquis physically or in social standing, yet he stood tall, bravely challenging Justin for her.

Justin nodded curtly. “Miss Amherst is under my protection. My
only
concern is that she receive everything due to her.”

Mr. Tuttle seemed to consider this for a moment, a gleam of sweat shining across his bald brow. “I must admit I was surprised to learn that Miss Amherst was residing here, and then when I heard about her funds being released, well…”

She stepped forward. “Lord Barclay is on my side, Mr. Tuttle, and I am thankful to be able to include you in the ranks of my champions as well.”

He pushed his spectacles up the ridge of his narrow nose and positively preened. “’Twas nothing, Miss Amherst. Just as you’d said, an injustice needed to be righted. I was just doing my part.” He pulled the letter from behind his back and handed it to her.

She noted that the paper was still closed with her father’s impressive seal securing the back. She slowly took the crinkled parchment and held it to her chest, bowing to the man. “I am grateful to you, Mr. Tuttle, for risking so much for me.”

“It was well hidden. It took me hours to find, and by then the night watchman was roused. He called his dog and I had to run for it. Had a nasty scrape with some bushes, but it was worth it. I’d just love to see the look on Marlboro’s face when he hears that his precious cache was compromised.”

She smiled warmly. “You play the hero well, Mr. Tuttle.”

His pale cheeks tinged pink as he tried to suppress his grin. “’Twas nothing, miss.”

“Any word from my father is precious to me.”

Justin nodded. “I also thank you, Mr. Tuttle. Your efforts will be rewarded, and Marlboro’s deceit will be repaid as well.”

The little man looked fit to burst. “Ah, thank you, my lord, Miss Amherst.”

Evelyn slid her fingers under the paper and broke open the familiar seal. “Why would Marlboro keep it from me and yet not open it?”

Mr. Tuttle patted his shiny forehead with a yellowed handkerchief. “I’d venture he was covering all corners in case the, ah”—he eyed Justin curiously—“
authorities
changed their mind regarding you.”

Justin seemed ready to chastise the little man, but instead only nodded. “My regard for Miss Amherst is not fickle, Mr. Tuttle. I had been under mistaken notions that have since been rectified. No one will interfere with Miss Amherst’s affairs again.”