All Men Are Rogues (23 page)

Evelyn hastily sent him an affectionate smile but could barely contain her anxiety as she quickly scanned the cherished scrawl of the long letter.

My dearest Evelyn,

 

If you are reading this missive, it means I am dead. I suppose it’s too much to hope that I went peacefully in my sleep, but alas, that is not the death of a soldier. And no matter the terminology, diplomat, emissary, spy, I lived my life as a soldier on behalf of my country and would likely die as such.

 

Justin stepped close and rested his strong, comforting hand on her shoulder. She pressed her hand to his, glad for his nearness and support. She read aloud, feeling he had the right to know. “‘In passing, I pray that I not only left you in considerable financial well-being, but also gave you some semblance of guidance for your life hereafter. There are few people in this world I regard as highly as you. Thus, it is with great sadness, and yet hope, that I pass on to you a burden I have carried these many years.’”

The hand on her should squeezed. “Burden! Of course!”

She looked up.

Justin’s incredible eyes sparkled with excitement. “The necklace is in the memorial. It’s not a memorial to your mother, but to you!”

Her brow furrowed, unease filtering through her. “But why would he leave a memorial to me?”

“Read on and I bet we’ll have our answers.”

She raised the paper once more and then lowered it. “Teardrops, gods…” Exhilaration filtered through her; they might actually be able to save Sully and Angel! Salvation was within reach. “In ancient Greece, diamonds were considered teardrops of the gods. You’re right, Justin! There were hints and snippets of it in Father’s journal. It must be there! We can get the necklace and trade it for their lives! Heavens, we might actually win!”

Justin beamed down at her. “As if you had any doubt. You can climb mountains if you set your mind to it, Evelyn. I’ve come to know that.”

She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him close, so blessedly thankful she could help her friends.

He wrapped his strong arms around her and kissed her forehead. “It’ll all be over soon, darling.” There was a catch to his voice.

Mr. Tuttle coughed. “Ahem. I hate to intrude, but after all of this chicanery, I’d suggest we read the rest of the letter and find out why your father went to such pains to hide the thing—before uncorking any champagne, that is.”

She blew out a long breath and nodded, reluctantly pushing out of Justin’s embrace. “Always the voice of reason, Mr. Tuttle.”

Sighing, she raised the parchment and read, “‘Thus, it is with great sadness, and yet hope, that I pass on to you a burden I have carried these long years. It seems like ages ago when the sultan of Kanibar gifted to me an ancient and magnificent necklace of the finest diamonds in gratitude for saving his firstborn from a terrible death. It was reputed to have legendary qualities, magic, some said, to turn a spurned heart, to garner friendship, and other such nonsense, in which I placed little credence. Still, its history and reputation gave it significant value, and I was grateful.’”

Justin coiled his arm around her waist. Her heart warmed, and she smiled to herself, continuing, “‘I had the mythical necklace with me in Paris on the ill-fated night when I happened upon a young Frenchman, an officer in the army who had recently been released from arrest but who was still out of favor with his government. Although he was poorly clad, ill-fed, and in disfavor, a brilliance shined from his owl-gray eyes, evidencing a brightness of intellect, of magnetism rarely seen, but found in great men. I was charmed.’”

The arm around her waist tensed into iron. Justin murmured, “A charismatic officer with owl-gray eyes can only be Napoleon.”

She swallowed but read on, “‘Over many a brandy, we spoke long into the dark night, and it was sometime near dawn when I showed him the magnificent necklace. It was an action I have grown to regret. Since then I never again showed the precious jewels to a living soul. I try to console myself by saying, who could have known that a starved officer would soon crown himself emperor and try to dominate Europe? But I, of all people, a man in the profession of assessing character, should have recognized the mad thirst for domination that lay within him.’”

“There were few who could have predicted how powerful Napoleon was to become,” Justin commented grimly.

“‘It was just two years after that fateful night in 1795 when Bonaparte contacted me about the necklace. The man has hounded me since. As rumors of Josephine’s infidelity circulated, he grew more insistent, but it soon became a crazed quest for supremacy, to harness the necklace’s supposed power or possibly to use it for desperately needed funds. I do not know, nor do I care. All I know is that the necklace must never come to be in his hands. He is our sworn enemy and we cannot allow anything to benefit his cause.’”

She took a shaky breath. “‘It is with you that I entrust this great responsibility, and I have all the faith of a proud, loving father that you will protect it as did I, until the mad Corsican is finally defeated. You will find it at your mother’s former residence, according to the ancient Greeks. All my love to you always, Evelyn, and may the Lord grace your days.’”

Her throat had swollen shut, and hot tears slid down her cheeks. A great weight settled on her chest, and she felt as if she might not draw breath. Justin enveloped her in his brawny arms and hugged her close, else she might not have been able to stand. She could not quite sort out the implications of her father’s monumental trust, his enormous faith in her, and the heavy burden he had placed upon her. She could not rationally face the conflict between needing to do what she must to save her friends and following her father’s last wishes.

“We will first get Sully and Arolas back, then I’ll cut off Helderby’s or anyone else’s hands before they take that bloody necklace,” Justin growled.

From within his embrace, a small bubble of laughter erupted from her choked throat.

He looked down at her, concern marring his handsome features. “What is it, Evelyn?”

She sniffed, shaking her head. “Wheaton, Napoleon, Helderby, all these praetorian men after a piece of woman’s jewelry. It’s almost comical.”

“Typical, actually,” huffed Mr. Tuttle.

Perplexed, she peered at him from within Justin’s arms.

The little man pushed his gold spectacles up his thin nose. “Men are always after something. The necklace could have been anything, just something to reach for, to give them an antidote.”

“To what?” Justin asked.

“That unsettling feeling in your gut when you think you might just not be good enough after all. To make someone feel complete…” His voice trailed off.

Heavy silence enveloped the chamber.

“My father trusted me to keep the necklace safe. How can I do that once I’ve given it to Helderby?”

Justin squeezed her arms. “I will kill Helderby and every man who gets within reach of the thing.”

She lovingly brushed her hand through his short hair. “I appreciate your sentiment, Justin, no matter how impractical.”

“Give this Helderby fellow an imitation.”

She turned to look at the amazing Mr. Tuttle.

“Excellent notion,” intoned Justin. “He’s never seen it—no one has if it’s been buried all these years. Leave the necklace in its safe hiding place for now.”

“But where will we get an exquisite jeweled necklace this late in the game?” she asked. “We cannot trust Helderby to keep Sully and Angel unharmed for the time it will take to find something.”

“The Barclay jewels will do nicely, I think.”

She blinked. The enormity of Justin’s offer staggered her. “Your aunt said that they’ve been in your family for hundreds of years. That they are worth a king’s ransom.”

He shrugged, not meeting her eye. “They’re not worth more than your safety, or that of your friends.”

Resolution was within reach, but everything came at a price, it seemed. “But they are for your bride,” she whispered. “Every Barclay bride has worn them for generations.”

Finally his stormy eyes met hers, and the torment she saw within them twisted her heart. “We might as well put them to some use, as I will not marry if it’s not to you.”

The world stopped, and Evelyn was caught up in swirling mists of gray-green tempests. It would be so easy to give in and fly with the flow of those storm clouds. But to fall was madness beyond imagining.

Mr. Tuttle rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Well, it’s settled then. Let’s find this Helderby chap and set up the exchange.”

Justin stepped away, leaving her feeling bereft. “I’ll contact Devane.”

Evelyn felt the sudden urge to toss her father’s letter into the fire. She didn’t want Justin betting his future on her. The diamonds seemed integral to his family life, to his marriage. He deserved a family who loved him, a woman who was not harnessed to her past, expecting betrayal at every corner.

The image of gorgeous young urchins with wheat-colored locks and greenish-gray eyes racing with puppies at their heels flashed through her mind, but she pushed it away, the pain too fierce for her to manage. She could never make herself so vulnerable to another. It would give him too much power to hurt her.

“Is there any other necklace we might use besides the Barclay bridal gems?”

“It’s our best course, Evelyn,” he stated coolly as he headed toward the door. “At this point, our only one.”

Staring at the empty threshold, she slowly nodded. She would accept his sacrifice, but she would repay him. No matter what happened, she would find a way to make amends. Just so long as it did not involve a minister, a license, and a trip down an aisle.

J
ust as the blood ran through his veins, the pain flowed with Sully’s every waking moment, as natural as his every breath. He welcomed each piercing ache, as it reminded him afresh of the debt he owed his captors—the brutish Helderby, the pretty marquis, and the conniving Wheaton. Sully did not care about the others. They were nameless muscles working toward their next payload. But Sully cared quite a lot about “the Traitorous Three.” Nurturing the fires of his hatred warmed the pain, making it almost pleasurable to imagine decimating his enemies with similar grief, tenfold.

In the shadowed darkness of his cell, by the light of the flickering moon through the slit of a window, he continued to needle at the binding at his wrists, the dried blood having hardened the knots to stone. After what must have been days toiling over the bands, he had felt that smidgen of “give” that heralded burgeoning escape. That tiny yield had provided him with more hope than a charging cavalry. For he didn’t want rescue, he wanted sweet retribution by his own hand.

He pushed away the worry about Evelyn, over the fact that his captors had not been to see him in what had to have been almost forty-eight hours. That did not bode well for his value to them, nor for his plans for revenge. Not that the pretty marquis was one to dirty his hands and deign to visit his captive. No, he was more intent on mauling defenseless young ladies. Sully’s simmering anger steeped, and he willed the fury into his fumbling fingers, knowing that soon his hands would be encircling the throat of that very same peer of the realm who had stolen Evelyn’s kisses.

The only times he felt his spirits falter were when the memories flashed through his mind; Evelyn’s tenth birthday, when she was too ill with fever to enjoy the festivities but insisted that everyone celebrate without her. Her beaming grin while learning to ride her first pony. The triumph lighting her sky blue eyes the first time she beat him at chess, though in truth he had let her win.

He wondered if she had identified the mythical necklace Helderby and Wheaton were after. He had certainly never seen or known of it. It hurt his pride that his dear friend Phillip hadn’t seen fit to share the secret. But if Phillip had kept the necklace hidden, it must’ve been for good reason. Sully trusted that it was so and prayed that Evelyn did right by her father and kept it safe. For Sully was not ready to let the Traitorous Three win in this dastardly game. He would give them each a slow and painful death first.

Helderby could barely contain his excitement as he ambled down the dusty corridor of the Largo safe house sheltering his “guests.” The jeweled necklace was about to be his,
all damn his.
No bloody sharing with any damned dying colonel; he couldn’t believe he’d put up with the bugger as long as he had, but he congratulated himself on overcoming the bastard. He was his own man. Takin’ care a business was his profession, and he was damned good at it and about to be a might richer for it as well.

His only regret was that he’d not had a go at the Amherst hellcat. She was a tasty morsel. Perhaps after he’d got his hands on the prize she’d be more interested in coming along for the ride. And for once he wouldn’t even have to pay for the poke. The thought lifted his spirits and his cock, and he almost cackled with glee.

Approaching the cell, he assumed the snarl he saved for ordering men about. Nodding to Jako, who was sitting in a chair by the end of the hall, he growled, “Any trouble?”

The muscle man shook his shaggy head. “Naw a bit. Ate not a thing but drank the lot. I’da thought he’da given me some excitement, given the bloke was supposed to be some sorta spy. But he was like a pup just waitin’ to be fed.”

Helderby felt a swell of smugness that he’d managed to conquer the mighty Sullivan. Well, Helderby had shown him who was boss, and old Sullivan was not about to forget it. Nor was the colonel, from the bottom of the bloody Thames. Helderby still recalled his own shock when he’d pressed the trigger and killed the man who’d been leading him about by the nose for years. Well, Helderby was tired of taking orders and didn’t need some dying old man telling him what to do. He was smart enough to get the necklace on his own and enjoy all of the take for his fast thinking and slippery fingers.

He inserted the iron key in the recently installed lock and almost snorted at the extra precautions they’d taken for this past-his-prime spy. Still, he entered the room tense and wary, ready for anything.

The foxy stench of feces and blood assaulted his senses and he smiled; those odors translated into money for Helderby. In the sliver of fading daylight, he discerned the lifeless clod lying on the cot, facing the wall, just as he’d been the last time Helderby had been to visit three days before. Not taking any chances, he inched closer while yanking his trusty knife from his sheath.

“Sullivan! Wake up! Yer ransom’s about t’be paid.”

The man didn’t move. A flush of anxiety lanced through Helderby’s gut, as he feared the bugger might be dead. He sniffed, anticipating the stench of death, but perhaps the man was not yet ripe. Helderby wondered if the Amherst chit would know the difference.

“Damn it all to hell,” he grumbled, stepping nearer and jabbing the man’s shoulder with the sturdy hilt of his blade. Sullivan didn’t move a hair. Helderby peered over the bloke’s shoulder and shouted, “Sullivan, man! Yer about t’be freed. Wake up, man!”

Still he did not move.

So Helderby rolled the man onto his back and stared at his lifeless face, cursing the rotter for being so blastedly weak. Then his eyes widened at the wrenching pierce of his own dagger being thrust deep into his belly. Only when the knife took a vicious twist in his gut did he scream. The bloke was on him faster than a whip, stuffing a pillow over his head and sweeping his feet right out from under him, toppling him down onto the wooden boards.

Sully pressed his whole weight onto the pillow, smothering Helderby’s screams. He knew the guards would hear the scuffle inside the small chamber and the hammering of Helderby’s boots as he thrashed about on the floor. Yet Sully was willing to take his chances against any of the muscle men, so long as the first of the three traitors bled himself to death. Despite his vengeful fantasies, Sully couldn’t afford to give the henchman his due and would deliver the oaf a swift justice. Perhaps Wheaton and the marquis would provide a greater sense of retribution. Still, death was death, always a nasty business.

As Helderby kicked and thrashed on the floor, his powerful muscles flailing about to find purchase, Sullivan yanked back the pillow and with exacting precision quickly gouged holes in Helderby’s neck and groin. Despite his hulking size, it would take the foul beast mere minutes to die.

The stink of blood, sweat, and urine pierced Sully’s clogged nose, and he felt little satisfaction in knowing the bugger had sullied himself in his last moments. The writhing slowed and the screams deadened to pitiful moans. Without looking too closely, Sully leaned forward and gave the final death thrust.

He stepped away from the still-twitching corpse to stand beside the door, his aching back pressed hard against the scratched wall. His heart was pounding, his every breath a harsh burn, but he was ready to escape this hellhole, and he was not about to let Evelyn hand anyone that blasted necklace.

Sully raised the bloodied knife and waited, stance wide, for leverage as the wooden door eased open with a piercing squeak. He lunged just as a shape entered the room; he grabbed the man’s arm and flung him over Helderby’s lifeless form. He then swung himself to face the open doorway, ready for the next attacker. The threshold was glaringly empty.

He whipped around, warily facing his lone assailant. Despite the blackened eye, tousled hair, unshaven whiskers, and rumpled clothes, the man had the same insolent grace as his father. “What the hell are you doing here, Angel?”

“Rescuing you.” With a grimace Angel shoved himself off Helderby’s corpse and straightened his sleeves. “But I see you’re doing fine on your own.”

“How did you find me?” Sully asked, cautiously scanning down each side of the corridor.

While checking Helderby’s body for weapons, Angel stated, “Actually, I’ve been a guest of this fine establishment myself. Locked up downstairs. When they came to get me tonight, I decided to make my own exit.”

“What about Evelyn? Was she captured as well?”

Angel yanked a pistol from Helderby’s pocket and checked the sights. “She was taken, but apparently is now free.”

“How could you have been so careless?”

“I made the mistake of trusting Barclay.”

Sully stared hard at the young Spaniard. “Don’t get any ideas about settling the score with that pretty sod, he’s mine.”

“I’ll queue up right behind you. I’ve no love lost for the bastard.”

As the men cautiously slipped out the door and down the hallway, Angel whispered, “Helderby was set to meet Evelyn at dawn at the park off Portman Square. She was going to barter something for our lives.”

“Not if I can bloody help it,” Sully muttered. “Where’s Wheaton?”

“Dead.”

Sully sniffed. “Two finished, one to go.” He peered down the shallow wooden stairs. “How do you know so much?”

“I gave my guard an offer he couldn’t refuse; information in return for his life. That and he was to grab his friends and take off. I was very convincing.”

Sully eyed the promising youth, who had grown into a remarkable young man. “I’m sure you were. Do you know where we are?”

“Clueless. But we have to be near enough to Portman Square for Helderby to have had us there by dawn.”

Sully raised the bloodied blade as he headed down the wooden stairs. “Let’s move along then: I have a score to settle, and I’m growing tired of waiting for Barclay to come to me.”

Angel let Sully lead as they slipped down the darkened stairway and across the main room without encountering a single assailant. As he warily watched every doorway, Angel was proud to guard the older man’s back. Sully had been his boyhood hero, a man who was so loyal to the Amhersts that he would follow them to Hades, yet who always kept his own counsel and his sense of independence.

As they tiptoed to the rear door, the scent of ale and cheese filled the small kitchen. A cook’s knife lay beside a hunk of cheese and loaf of bread on the table. A small wooden stool had been toppled over on the floor. The back door swung open in the evening breeze.

“This is too bloody easy,” Sully commented suspiciously, inching toward the exit.

Pressing his back to the still-warm cooker, Angel peeked out the threshold and then cautiously followed.

Outside, a tall, lithe figure slipped out of the shadows of a large tree and stepped into their path, his body cloaked head to toe in black. He moved with a fighter’s efficient grace as he blocked the threshold.

“Sully?”

“Ismet.” Sully stepped closer and squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Any more out front?”

The Turk shook his head. “Another came out and they took off.”

“How the hell did you find us?” Respect imbued Angel’s voice.

“I’m sorry it took so long. Only when Wheaton was dead did I trail Helderby. I wanted to slit his throat but feared that if I did, I’d never find you. So I waited and tonight he led me here.”

“Good thinking, Ismet.” Sully nodded. “You did it by the book.”

“Make sure to give me a copy when this is all said and done,” Angel commented.

“Let’s be off.” Sully swept toward the door. “I’m anxious for my appointment with the pretty marquis.”

As Sully crossed the threshold, Ismet laid a hand on his arm. “Miss Evelyn is with him.”

Angel froze, and Sully looked up at the tall Turk. “What do you mean,
with
?”

“She stays with him in his home.”

“What the bloody hell is she thinking!” Sully growled.

“She’s not,” Angel countered, scratching his chin. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless she is as much a prisoner as we. Granted, in a gilded cage.”

Sully shook his head. “But if she has whatever it is he wants, then why is she giving it to Helderby in exchange for us?”

“Dissention among the ranks?” Angel offered.

Sully brushed off Ismet’s hand and stomped out the door. “I don’t give a bloody fig what’s happening within his foul gang, I just want him dead. We can sort out the bloody details later.”

Angel hid his surprise. Sully had always been the one to analyze things before cautiously making a move. Still, he was older and wiser and Angel would follow his lead, even if it led down a hazardous path.