Perilous Risk (49 page)

If she died, he would gladly welcome his own death.

* * * *

Stephen awoke with a start. With his heart pounding, he glanced at the bed. Rebecca was still ashen-faced but the gentle rise and fall of her chest sent relief through him.

Bang, bang, bang…

The sound carried distantly on the wind.

He frowned. What devil was that?

He lifted her hand to his lips then lowered it and arose from the chair and went into the parlour. Frederick was still sleeping on the settee. The Earl of Ruel had offered to stay in case his help was needed but Stephen had declined and told him that in fact he ought to return to Mayfair.

The distant banging sounded again.

He frowned again and went to retrieve his greatcoat and walked out into the growing storm. Cold rain lashed his face. In the limited visibility, he squinted and surveyed the yard.

The stable door was open.

Strange. He clearly remembered closing it. He trod over sodden earth and went to close it. Lamplight made the bare wood glow in tones of amber and soft yellow. With his every alarm raised, he slowly walked inside.

A lamp sat on top of an overturned barrel.

He glanced around at the stalls, seeing Vic and Ned, their glossy brown coats glistening in the light. They didn’t seem particularly disturbed. But they were wakeful, lifting their heads, pricking their ears and nickering as he approached.

He went to the first stall and stroked Vic’s mane. He glanced over his shoulder. The doorway remained empty. There was no one else in the stable.

The door might have blown open of its own accord. Had Frederick come out to tend his horse because of the storm and left that lamp there? Yes, he must have.

Stephen checked Vic and Ned’s blankets and then checked on Frederick’s horses.

Footfalls sounded. Soft. Not a man’s boots. A woman?

He turned.

Pale grey eyes glimmered in the light. A tall, statuesque woman stood in the doorway. She lowered the hood of her pelisse and bright red lights shone in windswept curls that were half-falling from their pins.

“Maria,” he said, not quite believing his eyes.

She walked further into the stable. A smile brightened her expression. “Good evening, Stephen, I see that you’re surprised that I am here.”

“Yes, of course. I expected you to be well on your way to gracing some fat merchant’s divan by now.”

“I escaped my captors in Wapping. I don’t like to lose.”

“My mistake to have underestimated you.”

She reached into her pelisse and as she raised her hand, metal glinted.

A pistol.

“What are you about there?” he asked.

“Not me. The Earl of Ruel shall take the blame. You see, he couldn’t bear to lose his dear, long-time mistress. The only woman who would indulge his perverse tastes. Rather than lose her forever, he killed her and then you.”

“Rebecca’s not dead.”

“Oh, no? Surely, she’s close to death. I shot her square in the heart.”

“No, you missed.”

“She was trysting with Ruel. How does that make you feel as her”—Maria curled her lip—“
husband
?”

“I am her husband, not her keeper.”

“Ha! I doubt that’s really the way you feel. I never guessed that you were in love with someone. You seem too cold for it. But never mind, your surprising marriage to that pallid, common creature has handed me the best scenario for my revenge on Jonathon Lloyd. For that I thank you.”

“How are you going to place the blame on Ruel?”

“It is self-evident. He was visiting her and then you and her are murdered? Self-evident guilt.”

“Ruel is powerful and his wife possesses incredible wealth. He will have access to the best solicitors who will advise him on how to fight the accusations. He will also be tried by his peers, in the House of Lords. They will have sympathy for him as one of their own. They will want to keep the door closed to their sheltered world and push any hint of guilt under the carpet.” Stephen paused, studying her closely. “That bit about Ruel being a sodomite, that would have never stuck either.”

“The devil you say.”

“There are only two men whom you could have linked with him in this way. Mr David Kean and Lord Penn. Lord Penn has powerful relations who would never want his name attached to such salacious nonsense. Those names alone would have protected Ruel from your ill-conceived machinations.”

The door hinges made a squeaky sound as the wind gusted. She cut her eyes to the side, showing her nervousness at the sound. Then she put a hand to her temple. “Stop it Stephen!”

“Stop what?”

“Stop trying to twist things around.” She cut her eyes at the continued squeaking, her expression showing her growing agitation. However, she quickly regained control over herself and straightened the arm holding the gun. “You are too quick with your tongue. You’re a swindler.”

“A swindler?” He chuckled.

“You swindled me! You let me think you were besotted with me. You were using me to make connections in Society.”

“What? I swindled a lady of ill-repute to make my connections in Society?”

She frowned. “Then it is true?”

“What’s true?”

“That you’re a spy. Cherry thought you were. She said you interrogated her like a spy would have. But she wouldn’t say about what.”

Indeed. Cherry wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know he’d seduced her just to seek answers about another woman’s sexual tastes.

“I did ask Cherry a fair amount of questions.” He’d been too obvious about it, too. He’d lost his balance, just as he lost his balance about everything concerning Rebecca.

“I have to know, are you a spy? Did you kill Barnet?”

“You’re a bad strategist, Maria.”

“Not this time.” She clasped both hands about the pistol. “Move away from the horses. I don’t like to waste.”

Slam!

The door to the barn swung closed.

Maria jumped and on a shrill cry, whirled to look behind her. The pistol fired and hit the door.

Stephen lunged forward and grasped her about the waist. She screamed. He grasped her arm and gave it a savage twist. “Drop the pistol.”

She gasped, her body shaking. “No!”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Now, Maria. If I apply any further pressure, your bone will snap. I don’t want to do that to a woman. So, please drop the pistol.”

She threw a glance over her shoulder, her face mottled red with pain, her jaw appearing locked. “You think I am a fool? You can’t allow me to live. I know too much.”

“Yes, you do. But I am going to send you to the East, as I had planned before.”

Tears were streaking down her cheeks. It left him completely cold.

“I’ll escape again!”

“You’re going to be chained this time.”

“You’re a barbarian!”

“And you’re a murderess. Don’t you think it’s time you gave in to justice?”

Her arm finally weakened and the pistol dropped to the stable floor.

He eased his grip. Without releasing her waist, he bent and picked up the pistol. Then he pulled her with him over to his saddlebags. He retrieved some coarse rope. As he attempted to tie her wrists, she tried to fight. He tightened his grip. “You must behave. If you do, I’ll make sure you’re well cared for and arrive safe and in one piece at the slave markets.”

“I’d rather hang!”

“Well, that’s unfortunate. It doesn’t happen to be convenient for me that you stand trial.” Nor was it convenient for the crown but he didn’t mention that part.

She kept fighting him. He merely held her in a determined grip and deflected her efforts until she weakened and lay passive. She was a noblewoman and spoilt and soft from easy living. It didn’t take long. Then he tied her hands and feet.

“What are you going to do with me now, Stephen?”

She let a few tears trickle from the corners of her pale grey eyes. Coldness encased his heart. “I am going to lock you in the cellar.”

“But surely not with my hands and feet tied?”

“Barnet did just that to Rebecca.”

Shrewdness entered her eyes. “But you’re not like Barnet.”

Her comment caught him by surprise. Her look was so assessing, so bone deep. In the wake of Rebecca’s comments about the same topic, it made him pause.

He felt the stirrings of mercy.

And it was not a novel sensation. The urge to be compassionate had always been there. But before, he had pushed it under the surface in order to function in his work. But by doing so, he had denied his own humanity

Yet admitting the feeling didn’t make Maria any less evil or any less culpable in the situation. It was about the conflict between being an agent of justice and his own human heart.

No, he wasn’t like Barnet. Just as Rebecca had said, he could feel compassion and guilt for his targets, no matter the government’s sanction or the target’s blameworthiness in their own demise. But duty was duty and must be endured. And he must keep Rebecca safe.

Cool determination swept through him. He could admit the inner conflict and still act as needed.

With a stout yank on the ropes binding her ankles, testing the fastness of the knot, he regarded her steadily. “You’ll be fine. I’ll check on you often and, unlike in Rebecca’s case, I shall bring you food and drink.”

* * * *

The clock chimed in the parlour, shaking Stephen out of a half-sleeping state. He didn’t catch how many chimes. However, several hours had passed since dawn and he found himself slipping into a malaise for long stretches of time. The despondency of his spirit would not ease.

Rebecca lay in the bed, her eyelashes like golden-brown fans on her porcelain-pale skin. Her lips looked dry, lacking their normal vibrant rose colour. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

Yes, she awoke and took some drink or watery gruel from time to time. But she said little and spent most of her time sleeping.

God. How long would it be until she showed some sign that she had passed the window of danger? When would he know for certain that she was safe? If only he could have taken the bullet. She was an innocent, she did not deserve this. She had been caught in the middle of a dastardly situation and had borne the brunt of Maria’s revenge for what he had done.

Restlessness surged in his blood, a drive to take action. But what action could possibly help this situation? Frederick said that they must simply wait.

Wait. Bloody hell. Wait for what?

Fever. Infection. Signs of permanent damage to her heart, lungs or some other vital organ.

She’d lost a good deal of blood and Frederick had said, in a reluctant, halting tone, that her mind could even be damaged. She hadn’t wakened fully enough for them to be certain yet.

He took a deep breath and leapt to his feet. Damn it. How did one bear a situation like this?

He went to the washstand and poured water into the basin. Then he splashed his face several times before scrubbing it dry with a coarse towel.

It helped some.

What he wouldn’t give for a cup of strong black tea. Or something stronger.

But he wouldn’t cheat on his diet. He must stay healthy for Rebecca’s sake.

He went to the parlour. Frederick had been called away to tend another patient and it was quiet in the cottage. Stephen sat in a chair and tried to focus on the papers that his valet had brought from London a couple of days before.

But he couldn’t concentrate. Having decided to return to the bedchamber, he was halted by a knock on the door.

From beneath a black, low-crowned, wide-brimmed hat, hazel eyes peered over a pair of silver framed spectacles. “Good day, Stephen.” The man was Charles Addison, Stephen’s superior with the Home Office. “You have a parcel for us?”

Stephen answered in the affirmative but all the while his mind spun. Yes, he had asked for assistance to transport Maria Seymour, now known as Sally Johnson, a former lady’s maid who had gone soft in the head and believed herself to be nobility, to his agent in London. His agent would handle all the unsavoury particulars of her journey to be sold into slavery and disappear. But he had expected some other agent to arrive. Someone on par with himself or lower in the ranks.

Not his superior.

He invited the elder man into the parlour. Whilst the burly coachmen came and took custody of Maria, Stephen busied himself with brewing tea in the kitchen. And when she passed by, her screams coming as muffled sounds through the gag she wore, he didn’t turn to see her go. Finished business.

The tea brewed, Stephen set the tea tray on the table in the parlour and sat opposite Addison.

He found himself the object of those cool hazel eyes. “We were surprised to hear of the Earl of Barnet’s passing.”

Stephen faced the faintly disapproving stare with a steady gaze.

With his hat removed, the elderly man smoothed a hand over hair that glinted like fresh fallen snow in the waning afternoon sun from the parlour window. This sign of hesitation, perhaps of nervousness over what he must say, made Stephen uneasy.