Kathryn Smith (24 page)

He glanced away, but not before she saw something in his eyes. Was it his family he thought of as well? Was it one of his brothers he sought to protect?

Good God, she wasn’t actually starting to believe him, was she? The only person Wynthrope Ryland sought to protect was himself.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“It is I who must thank you.”

His gaze was questioning as it met hers. “Me?”

“Yes.” Her tone was so cold, her own bones chilled with it. “At least you revealed yourself before I fell in love with you. That would have been too cruel, even for you.”

She had struck a nerve. He recoiled as though she had slapped him. Perhaps she should have, but that wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying as seeing the pain so clearly written in his features. Of course, there was an edge of remorse to her satisfaction. Either he was a better actor than she thought, or he truly was hurt by her words.

Good. She wanted him to hurt. If his heart was broken into one fraction of the pieces hers was, he would suffer enough for her mollification.

“Now get out. And I warn you, if that tiara goes missing anytime in the near future, I will consider my promise not to go to the authorities void. Understood?”

He nodded as he moved toward the balcony doors. He probably thought he was doing her a service by leaving the way he came. Probably thought he was protecting her virtue or some foolishness. Unfortunately, he was.

Pausing at the doors, he turned to face her, his remorseful expression almost lost in the darkness. “Moira?”

Defiantly, she raised her chin as she glared at him. She said nothing.

His lips twisted to one side. “I’m glad you did not fall in love with me as well.”

And then he was gone into the falling snow, leaving Moira alone with her tears.

He vomited under the watchful gaze of Moira’s garden angel.

Shoulders hunched against the cold and the darkness, Wynthrope wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. The
other rested against the angel for support, his fingers clinging to the smooth surface.

The churning in his stomach eased as he leaned into the angel’s unyielding embrace. This had to be a dream—a horrible nightmare. Things couldn’t have possibly gone this bad.

But they had gone bad. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him, and part of him might even appreciate it one day. Right now it only served to make him bitter and sick. He had been putting the damn thing back, for Christ’s sake, had decided he couldn’t betray Moira’s trust in such a manner, and then she woke up.

Perhaps it really was fate. Perhaps no one had any control over what direction his life took, he was just a pawn in a much larger game.

If only he could have made her understand, though there was no reason he could expect her to. He wouldn’t if the situation was reversed. She was hurt and angry, and it wouldn’t matter what he said or what evidence he presented, she wouldn’t see past that.

It certainly hadn’t helped that he couldn’t tell her the whole truth. Telling her about his connection to Daniels wouldn’t have mattered because she was in no frame of mind to hear it, but he couldn’t tell her about North. That simply wasn’t his business to tell. Risking her retaliation against him was one thing, but he didn’t want to color her opinion of his brother. North had obstructed a criminal investigation to protect him, and that was something someone of Moira’s moral starchiness might not understand.

It wasn’t any different than her not telling him why her husband couldn’t consummate their marriage, although she was unlikely to agree.

Sweet, innocent Moira. What a fool she must feel like right now. Was she weeping over him, or was she still too angry for tears? If there was any mercy in heaven, she was still
angry. He didn’t want to think of her wasting tears over him.

Dragging a hand over his face, he straightened, edging away from the sheltering stone of the angel. Dawn wasn’t long on the horizon, and he would do well to get home before anyone saw him. It wouldn’t do to have the gossips speculating about him being at Moira’s at this hour. The last thing she deserved was to have her reputation destroyed on top of having her heart broken.

His horse was down by Moira’s own stables where he had left him. Wearily, he hauled himself into the saddle and urged the gelding down the drive. His fingers were cold and stiff on the reins and snow fluttered down his neck, but he didn’t care.

She had thanked him for hurting her before she could fall in love with him. If she had been looking for a remark that would cut him to the very quick, she had found it with that one. Had she been in danger of falling in love with him? He didn’t know which was more painful, the thought that she might have been in danger of doing so, or the fact that she hadn’t developed such feelings for him yet.

He wanted her love, just as a child wanted a toy it was told it couldn’t have. And now that it was impossibly far out of his reach, he wanted it with a desperation that made his chest tight and his head ache.

Still, there was a certain amount of relief in having her find out the truth. She knew now what kind of man he had been, what kind of man he was. He didn’t have to worry about her finding him out anymore. He probably should have told her everything, but she hadn’t been in the frame of mind to hear it. If she ever came near him again, and there wasn’t much of a chance of that, then he would tell her everything—if she cared to hear it.

That was the future, and he had other things to think about right now. He had to clear his head of Moira and the tears in
her eyes and put his mind to Daniels and what he was going to do now.

Daniels had given him until Twelfth Night to steal the tiara. Twelfth Night was rapidly bleeding into day, and Wynthrope was without the prize. No doubt Daniels was going to pay a call on him within the next few hours if he wasn’t waiting for him already. He would not be pleased that Wynthrope had failed to deliver. He would not be pleased that Wynthrope had changed his mind. Daniels was many things, but he was a man of his word; he would do everything he could to ruin North and the rest of the family. If he wasn’t able to buy himself time to figure things out, Wynthrope would have to pay a visit to his brothers and prepare them for the worst. He was going to have to tell them everything eventually, but he wanted to have a course of action planned out before he let North loose. He was also going to have to ensure Moira’s safety without her knowing about it. A woman scorned was not a rational creature, and he wouldn’t put it past her to put herself in danger just to spite him.

But his Moira wasn’t a spiteful person. She was sweet and loving, and far too kind for her own good. The notion that he might have damaged those qualities was sickening. She would think twice before trusting anyone again, and she would think of him every time she considered such action. At least she would think of him sometimes, even if it was in a negative manner.

He suspected he would think of her often over the rest of his life, and always with regret.

By the time he arrived home he was covered in a thin layer of snow and his cheeks burned with cold. The chill outside was nothing like the chill inside, however. He was numb, totally numb, sick and tired.

So it was only fitting that Daniels was waiting for him when he stepped inside the darkened confines of his apartments.

“’Bout time you got back.”

“Lovely to see you too.” At least he hadn’t lost his ability to be sarcastic. He would always have that.

The old man made a scoffing noise. “Where is it?”

Wynthrope shook his head to remove any remaining snow and then tossed his coat over a nearby chair. “I don’t have it.”

The silence that followed his announcement was so dense, he could have touched it. “What do you mean, you don’t have it?”

Wynthrope lit a lamp and turned to face his adversary. “Just that. I do not have it.”

Daniels’s eyes blazed as hotly as the lamp. “Why the hell not?”

Sighing, Wynthrope ran a hand over his eyes. “She caught me.”

“
What
?”

The old man’s tone would have been laughable if Wynthrope could only remember how to laugh. “She woke up. I couldn’t steal it. I was lucky to get out without her raising the alarm.” He didn’t feel the least remorse for withholding details from Daniels. It was none of his business what transpired between him and Moira.

“So you got yourself some rub ’n’ tug, but you didn’t get my tiara?”

Wynthrope shook his head. “I did not.”

Daniels’s fist came down hard on the mantel. “Do you take me for a fool, boyo?”

Meeting his gaze evenly, Wynthrope smirked. “I believe you a lot of things, Daniels, but a fool is not one of them.”

“Then you know that I meant what I said. If you do not get me that tiara, I will make you and your brother the talk of London.”

He shrugged. “Then you had better give me time to come up with a new plan. I’m no help to you if all of society
knows the truth about me.” How calm he sounded. No doubt it was because he no longer cared about any of this.

Daniels’s face was impassive. “You don’t give me orders, boy.”

Another shrug. “What do you suggest then?”

Pale blue eyes narrowed. Daniels wasn’t stupid, he could sense the change in him. “What happened boyo, did she turn her back on ye? Is that the reason for your lack of respect?”

His lack of respect was due to the fact that Daniels didn’t deserve any, but he didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything, and that was his first mistake.

A slow, knowing smile spread across the Irishman’s face, and Wynthrope realized the power he had just handed his former employer.

“I suggest you figure out a way to get me that tiara by week’s end, or you’ll pay for it.”

Wynthrope arched a brow despite the unease in his stomach. What was the old bastard planning? “I’ll try.”

“That Lady Aubourn’s a real pretty thing. I would hate to see her get hurt.” Some of the humor left his gaze. “And I will hurt her, and anyone else who strikes my fancy.”

He knew it was coming, he knew what the old man was capable of, but that didn’t stop the haze of red hot rage from settling over his brain. He acted without thought, only instinct.

“You son of a bitch.” Wynthrope’s fist caught Daniels in the face, driving the older man’s head up as he spiraled backward. Driven by his lust for blood, Wyn moved in for another attack, hauling his former mentor to his feet by his lapels.

It was then that he felt the sharp sting of steel against his throat.

“Easy now, boyo,” Daniels advised, his mouth bleeding at the corner. “We wouldn’t want that pretty head of yours to become separated from the rest of ye.”

Wynthrope stilled. The blade had already cut him, and he could feel blood running down his neck. He held the older man’s gaze, but kept his silence. He was not afraid of dying, but he was afraid of who Daniels might send after the tiara in his place.

“Now that I have your attention,” Daniels was saying, “allow me to tell you how it’s going to be. You are going to get me that tiara, understand? I don’t give a rat’s arse how you have to do it, but you will do it. If you don’t, someone is going to get hurt. And by ‘someone,’ I mean someone you care about. Are we clear on that?”

He didn’t dare nod. “Perfectly.”

Daniels lowered the knife with a satisfied smile. “Good. I’ll check with you in a day or so to make certain you haven’t forgotten.”

As if the wound on his throat wasn’t going to be reminder enough. “You do that.”

Wiping the blade on his trousers, Daniels shook his graying head. “Oh boyo, you always were a insolent rascal. That was part of the reason I loved you so much.”

“You never loved anyone but yourself.”

“Ah, now that’s not true. I loved you until you betrayed me. That seems to be a habit o’ yours, betrayin’ people you claim to care about.”

“While you prefer to deceive and lie to the people you claim to care for.”

Daniels shrugged. “I only told you what you needed and wanted to hear, son. You filled in the rest by yourself.”

It was true. Daniels had known exactly what to say to make Wynthrope believe him. He had also known exactly what strings to pull to make a young man behave how he wanted.

If it was the last thing he did, he would make certain Daniels never duped any young fool again.

“I will get your damn tiara. Now get the hell out of here.”

Still wearing that smug smile, Daniels slipped his blade up his sleeve and pressed his hand to the back of his mouth, where blood was now pooling. “You had better take care of that cut on your neck. Wouldn’t want you to come down with a fever.”

Wynthrope said nothing, even though the old man’s mocking laughter made him want to strike out in any way possible. He knew better than to push Daniels. Daniels would be far easier to dupe if he thought he was the one with all the power.

But what Daniels didn’t realize was that the balance between them had shifted. Yes, there was the chance that Daniels might harm Moira or one of his brothers, but Wynthrope now knew that there were precautions he could take against such a thing. All he had to do was swallow his pride and admit that he couldn’t defeat Daniels alone.

The door clicked shut as Daniels made his exit. Wynthrope waited until he was gone before he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and used it to staunch the blood seeping down his throat. Pulling it away, he glanced down and grimaced at the sticky, dark red stain. Daniels had cut him worse than he thought. Thank God for cravats, else he’d have to think of a suitable story, and no one would believe his valet had cut him while shaving.

One thing was certain. Daniels had turned this into a personal war by involving Moira. Wynthrope and North and even Dev and Brahm were grown men who knew full well the consequences of their actions. They all had demons from their past they had to face at one time or another, and were prepared to do it if necessary. Moira, however, was an innocent. She had nothing to repent, nothing to regret except trusting him. If it was the last thing he did, he would ensure that she did not pay for his mistakes.

He was tired of being a pawn. It was time fate learned who was really in control.