Debra Mullins (22 page)

Next came the Fellhoppers, then the Rosewoods with congratulations. Last came Anna, her face luminous with pride, her eyes dark with longing. “Congratulations, Mr. Devereaux. You deserve such a distinguished position.”

“Thank you, Miss Rosewood.” Rome turned to Vaughn. “You must wish Lord Haverford happy,” Rome said. “He and Miss Rosewood have just become betrothed.”

“Well, then, this is a night of celebration, isn’t it?” Vaughn said with a chuckle.

Rome watched Anna as she went back to Haverford’s side, silently mourning for what he could never have. “Quite.”

T
here was no reason for him to stay.

Rome carefully folded the note and tucked it into a hidden pocket of his satchel. Anna was safely engaged to Haverford and he could return to London and finish his mission to bring the Black Rose Society to justice.

He tucked his satchel in a corner. He would leave first thing in the morning with Edgar Vaughn, since Haverford had offered the man a room for the night.

Vaughn’s unexpected appearance had thrown him, but a short, private conversation with the man had proven enlightening.

While Vaughn had indeed followed him with the intent of working together to end the reign of
the Black Rose Society, apparently the diplomat had also decided to give him the position after all. They would work together on this mission, then Rome’s diplomatic career would begin. After working so long and hard toward his dream, he could hardly credit that he had at last achieved it.

His glance fell on the bed. Most of his dream, that is.

The huge bed mocked him with its emptiness. Anna belonged to another man now, and there was no way they could ever be together. He walked over and smoothed a hand along the mattress. How was he supposed to sleep here, knowing she was so close and yet forever forbidden to his arms?

He clenched his hand in the coverlet, his heart aching with loss. First Peter, then Anna. Was there any use in loving when the heart could be so easily rent by it? He pictured a night of tossing and turning while his demons laughed at him in his mind. Blast it all, he should have asked for one of Haverford’s hot toddies.

He jerked away from the bed. Grandmother’s toddy wouldn’t have been enough anyway. He needed whiskey.

He stalked out of the room, his destination Haverford’s liquor cabinet in the first floor study. If he couldn’t have peace, he would take oblivion.

But somehow, he found himself in the hallway near Anna’s room.

Fool. That way lay nothing but more heartache.

Still he lingered there, watching her door, thinking about her dressed in her nightclothes and wrapped in the covers.

Thinking about undressing her and unwrapping her.

Idiocy. Everything had fallen into place as expected, and he could ruin all if he tarried. She belonged to Haverford. She wore his ring.

And he was not his father.

The scrape of a footstep made him tense. Lavinia? No, she was safe in slumber, thanks to Grandmother’s toddy. Anna? His heart skipped a beat, excitement flooding his veins. Wait, no, it couldn’t be Anna. She had taken Grandmother’s toddy, too.

So who else would be sneaking around the house so late at night?

He slipped into a shadowed niche and waited.

Someone walked softly down the hall, no candle lit, as if they knew the way. Rome hadn’t brought a candle either, but he had good vision at night and knew the house intimately from childhood. Anyone else should have needed light to navigate the labyrinth of hallways.

The whole situation took on a sinister cast. He tensed, ready to act on a moment’s notice.

“Devereaux?” came a whisper. “Blast it, where did you go?”

Rome frowned and stepped out of the niche. “Vaughn?”

The other man startled. “Damn it, man, you move like the wind.”

“What are you doing skulking around the hallways?” Rome asked.

“Looking for you. I saw you leave your room and thought you were doing a bit of reconnaissance. Good idea with all the danger afoot.”

Rome seized on the excuse. “Exactly.”

“If you’re taking this wing of the house, I’ll patrol the other,” Vaughn whispered.

“Excellent notion.” At least the activity would get him away from Anna’s door.

“I’ve brought my pistol,” Vaughn whispered. “I’ll fire it off in case of emergency.”

“Very good.”

“We’ll share our findings in the morning, unless something happens before then. Be careful, Devereaux.”

“You, too, Vaughn.”

Vaughn gave a single, quick nod and went back the way he came, headed for the other wing of the house.

Rome started in the other direction. He probably should have told Vaughn that he had the note in his possession. There would be time enough for that in the morning, he supposed.

Whiskey abandoned for the moment, he set about patrolling the wing he’d been assigned.

She should have taken that toddy.

Anna flipped over, tugging the coverlet up
around her shoulders. She had come within a breath of drinking down the honey-flavored beverage, but reconsidered.

Did she really want to forget last night’s events?

Earlier, she had thought she might enjoy lying in her bed, reliving her one and only night with the man she loved and had offered the toddy to her mother, whose excitement about the wedding had left her jittery and overstimulated. Now she wished she had taken the dratted thing.

Well, at least one of them would sleep tonight. Anna’s fond memories had quickly turned to teasing bits of torment as the hours passed, and slumber eluded her. Had she really thought she would enjoy reliving that night, when there was no way she would ever again sleep in Rome’s arms?

Foolish girl. She was engaged to be married to a kind man who would provide for her always. She should accept her lot and be grateful. Instead, she longed for a man she could not have.

She heard a sound in the hallway, and her heart leaped. Rome? Had he come to her?

She nearly sat up in the bed, but her engagement ring caught on the bedsheets, reminding her of how matters stood. She couldn’t welcome him, no matter how much her heart sang at the thought. She had pledged herself to Haverford of her own free will, and she must honor that pledge, no matter how much she longed to be with Rome. Sucking in a shuddering breath, she forced herself to remain still, as if lost in slumber.

Hopefully he would leave when he saw she was sleeping, because if he woke her with a kiss, she knew she wouldn’t have the strength to send him away.

The door creaked open. Her pulse sped up, and her hands trembled with the effort it took to remain still. Someone crept into the room, footsteps a soft scuffle in the silence of the night.

The temptation to throw back the covers and invite him to join her was unbearable.

She expected him to come to her bedside, to whisper her name. But instead he went to her vanity table and quietly began looking through her things. What in the world…?

She shifted just a bit so she could see him. The lean shadow of a man froze at her movement, but when she remained still, he continued his search. He finished at the vanity and went toward the wardrobe, passing the window as he did so.

Moonlight gleamed off the hilt of the sword buckled at his waist.

Anna gasped as fear shot through her. The tiny sound betrayed her, and the intruder turned in her direction. Abandoning her pretense, Anna threw back the covers to slide from the bed. He leaped on her, his heavy body flattening her back against the mattress. Gripping her hair painfully near the scalp, he jerked her face close to his.

In the soft light of the moon, she saw he wore a mask.

“Where is it?” he demanded, in a guttural whisper.

“What?”

He jerked her head back. A whimper escaped her lips. “The note. Tell me, or I’ll snap your neck.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Liar.” He jerked her head again. “Tell me.”

“I don’t!”

“Then you’re of no use to me.” He released her with a jerk, grabbed a pillow, and pressed it down over her face. “Poor dear, you were supposed to be asleep,” he hissed. “Why didn’t you drink your toddy? Is this the behavior of an obedient wife?”

That voice…it sounded familiar. Her mind struggled for the association even as she gasped for breath. But her lungs drew no air. He was smothering her!

Suddenly he lurched away. There was a smash of breaking glass. She threw the pillow from her face and sat up, sucking in sweet, fresh air.

“Bastard.” Rome loomed over her fallen assailant, a broken lantern in his hand. “Looking for something?”

The masked man leaped to his feet and charged at Rome. The two men crashed to the floor, rolled. Rome’s broken lantern skidded away. They punched. Kicked. The masked man jumped on top of Rome and closed his hands around Rome’s throat.

Anna jumped from the bed and grabbed the pitcher from the bureau, then swung it at the intruder’s head. He raised an arm at the last instant and knocked the pitcher from her grasp. It flew across the room and shattered.

Rome shoved the man away and scrambled to his feet. The masked man leaped up and escaped through the French doors leading out to the terrace that ran the length of the house.

Rome grabbed Anna by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, still stunned by the attack.

“Good.” He pressed a hard kiss to her lips, then shoved her toward the bedroom door. “Go for help.” Then he plunged through the French doors in pursuit of the villain.

The terrace led out to a sweeping dining area off the ballroom. Thanks to a night with a nearly full moon, Rome was able to keep his prey in sight. The man would either have to descend the stairs into the garden or escape through the house.

He raced past Haverford’s room and saw the gleam of crossed swords on the wall. He stopped. Better to face this enemy armed and with help from his trusted friend, Vaughn. Going back to his cousin’s bedroom, he jerked at the handles to the French doors, but they were locked. He pounded on the glass. No answer. He peered into the room and made out the dim shadow of Haverford’s bed. Empty.

“Bollocks!” With a silent apology to his cousin, he braced himself and then rammed his elbow through the glass by the handles. Careful of the razor-sharp shards, he reached inside and unlatched the door. It swung open.

He charged into Haverford’s room and took in the multiple sets of swords mounted on the wall. Ah, that one. He grabbed an elegant rapier. This had always been his favorite when fencing with Marc.

Armed, he raced back out to the terrace, hoping the intruder had not evaded him.

His intimate knowledge of the house aided him as he sped along the terrace, dodging objects. He poured on the speed, and as he came upon the open patio, he saw his assailant racing for the stairs that led to the garden. With a roar, he leaped, tackling the intruder.

They crashed to the hard stone of the patio, and his sword skittered away. He rolled off the intruder and scrambled over to retrieve his fallen weapon. When he turned around, the other man had just gotten to his feet.

Upon seeing the sword, the masked man laughed. “You think to challenge me to a duel? Have you any idea how many men I’ve killed?”

Rome took his stance, blade at the ready. “I know how many boys you’ve killed.”

His opponent growled with displeasure and whipped out his sword. “I will be happy to add one more kill to my list.”

He leaped forward, taking the offense in a move that surprised Rome.

Swords clashed as they exploded into battle. The masked man was good—better than good. He was clearly a master. But Rome had rage and grief on his side. This blackguard had tried to kill Anna and had probably lent a hand in Peter’s death as well. There was no way on this earth he would escape this time.

He was fast. Rome parried a quick volley of blows, barely able to keep time with the swordsman. Their blades locked, and he gave a shove, sending the other man stumbling back.

Rome had greater height and weight on his side, but the other man’s slender build gave him an edge when it came to agility. The masked man darted here and there, his blade slashing wickedly. The Society ring on his right hand gleamed in the moonlight, the bloodred ruby a sign of the Triad.

This was no ordinary member. He was one of the leaders.

A lucky swipe drew blood from Rome’s cheek.

“So sorry,” the other man sneered, then laughed in glee, his blade flashing again.

Rome parried, then pressed in with his own attack. He may not have fought many duels, but he had the experience of the battlefield to guide him. He feinted and drew blood with a quick slice to the rib cage. His opponent danced away, but not in time to avoid the blow completely.

“You think to best me?” Voice harsh with rage, the masked man stepped up the pace.

Rome kept up, but barely. Already he gasped for breath, his heavier build starting to work against him. Blood dripped from his cheek and trailed down his collar. Sweat trickled down his temple. Their sword hilts locked again, and Rome shoved the other man, unlocking their weapons and sending him staggering backwards. Pressing the advantage, Rome charged forward with a cry, determined to cut down this murderer once and for all.

At the last second, the masked man moved his sword out of the way and brought up his other hand. Rome saw the knife an instant too late. He dodged and took the brunt of the blow just beneath his collarbone.

Pain seared through his flesh. He sucked in a breath, struggling for coherence, determined not to lose this battle.

Someone shouted, and a shot rang out. The masked man shoved Rome away and escaped down the stairs. Rome pressed a hand to his wound, blood flooding through his fingers as he staggered and fell. He lay there, gasping, fighting against the blackness that edged his vision.

Running footsteps. The hysterical babble of voices. Again, the harsh crack of a pistol.

“Got the bastard!” Vaughn’s triumphant cry.

Someone knelt beside him and gently urged him onto his back. Marc. Still clad in his dressing
gown, the earl examined his wound, his mouth grim. “It’s bad,” he said.

The admiral appeared behind Haverford, offering a handkerchief. “Use this until we can get him inside.”

Marc took the snowy linen and pressed it to the puncture. Rome’s breath hissed out from between his teeth as the pain tried to take him again. “Bloody hell!”

“Easy, Rome. It’s over.” Marc laid a comforting hand on the uninjured shoulder. “Vaughn shot the blighter.”

Vaughn appeared and knelt on his other side. “Young Fellhopper’s watching over the body. What’s happening here?”

“Knife just under the collarbone. Way too much blood. May have nicked an artery.” Marc glanced at Anna’s father. “Admiral, please have someone summon the surgeon at once.”