The Emperor's Conspiracy (14 page)

Beside her, Kit shuffled in place, nervous.

He’d had to make a choice. Accompanying her tonight meant he was hers. Irrevocably.

He would have to break the hold Luke had over him. Stop the reports and the spying.

She finally walked to the door, pushed it open, Kit a step behind her.

The stale stink of old sweat and sour booze was choking. A single light burned below, a lamp hooked to the wall of Luke’s office. The rest of the deep, wide pit was shadowed.

Charlotte lifted her face to the ceiling, listening for any sign of occupation in the upper floors. She heard nothing, but she would have to check.

She put a hand on the bannister. Looked down into the ill-lit gloom, and thought of hell.

She often wondered if Luke had created this place deliberately. A strange, mocking hark back to his time in the Hulks. She could barely imagine the horror, although nursing him, listening to him whimper and call out in his fever when she’d gotten him out, had given her a glimmer.

The Hulks had broken him, and forged him into something new. Something she had never truly understood, although she had tried as hard as she could.

She realized she had never come here alone of her own accord. It was always by invitation, always when it was wild and packed with desperation.

“Charlie?” Kit asked, confused at her hesitation, and below, someone made a small sound in the shadows.

She expected one of Luke’s men would be lurking below. Luke would never leave his office unguarded. She only hoped it was someone she knew. Someone from the old days.

She moved at last, taking the stairs lightly, quickly, as if they led down to a private garden, rather than the strange purgatory Luke had fashioned.

Kit followed at a slower pace, and Charlotte knew he’d heard the sound as well.

She did not hesitate at the bottom. She walked straight through the darkness toward the light over the door of Luke’s office, and made it almost all the way before a figure stepped in front of her. He blocked the light, silhouetted by it, so at first she could not see who it was.

Her eyes adjusted. “Sammy.” She relaxed a little.

“What ya doin’ here, Charlie?” His body couldn’t seem to keep still, as if he were a greyhound about to race.

“I need to see Luke.”

He turned to the office at her mention of Luke’s name, then swung back to her. “He’s busy.”

She did not respond to that. Simply looked at him for a long moment.

His gaze slid off her face, looked beyond her, and focused on Kit. “You need to get her out o’ ’ere. Things need doing and she can’t be party.”

Kit gestured to him, as if to have a discussion about it, and Sammy stepped around her, opening up the way.

Charlotte took advantage, ran to the door, and slipped through, slamming it behind her.

She turned the key in the lock, then gasped as Sammy threw himself against the sturdy wood.

The room, like the pit, was only lit by a single lamp, and there was no one in it. But now she thought she could hear the murmur of voices above, and she took the tight, cast iron spiral staircase upward.

It opened out in a sitting room of sorts, ill-furnished with things Luke’s henchmen or their wives had found over the years, a mismatch of sofas and armchairs, wooden stools and tables.

Three men turned their heads to her as she ascended the last few stairs. Luke, standing closest to her, and Bill Jenkins, his right-hand man, kneeling beside Edward, tied to one of the wooden chairs.

Her eyes went straight to Edward, blood dripping from his nose but otherwise unmarked, save the bruise Sammy had left on his face a few days ago.

“Kit,” Luke breathed.

“Not nice to find your friends choosing a different side, is it?” She made her words as icy as she could, her attention swinging to him.

He acknowledged the barb, lifted out hands in surrender. “I won’t use him again.”

If he was looking for a thank-you, he was mistaken. “No, you won’t.” She flicked her gaze to Bill, not daring to look directly at Edward again. “Untie him.”

Bill looked across to Luke, who gave a tight nod.

But she wasn’t fooled. Luke knew he and Bill could have Edward back in that chair in under a minute if he wanted to. This was far from over.

She saw a few things were laid out on the small table next to Edward. An envelope, a watch, and a small pile of coins.

She knelt next to the chair and started untying the ropes at Edward’s hands, while Bill worked on the ones on his feet.

Edward had said nothing at all, but he watched her, his eyes glittering in the light. Close up she saw that his lip was slightly swollen.

“Tell me about the men watching my house.” She lifted her head, looking at Luke as she spoke.

“Ask him.” He jerked his head at Edward, his face stone.

“He knows less than I do. The person who sent those
watchers is either his stepfather or his brother-in-law. Or some people his brother-in-law was involved with.”

For the first time, some emotion played on Luke’s face. “You’re so sure?”

“Yes. I spoke to one of the watchers myself.”

Luke crossed arms over his chest, turned his gaze to Edward. “Who is your stepfather?”

Edward hesitated a moment, but Charlotte couldn’t see a reason for him to hide the information. Luke could find out easily enough later. “Lord Hawthorne.” His voice was hoarse, as if he’d taken a blow to the throat, or been throttled, and she gave Bill a sharp look.

Luke was still, letting the seconds tick by, and then leaned over and picked the envelope off the table. “You have a letter addressed to him. Playing delivery boy?”

Charlotte, still crouched at Edward’s feet, looked up at him. “Is it from Emma, letting him know about Geoffrey?” That made sense.

Edward shook his head. She could see in his face the anger at being helpless to prevent Luke from reading it. He spoke with a tight jaw. “Someone pushed it under the door while I was waiting for my stepfather to see me. I thought it might be from the watchers—a report—so I took it.”

She was surprised he would take something not addressed to himself. She didn’t think less of him for it. She’d have done the same, but it was the first indication she had that he wasn’t a stickler for the rules.

Luke slit it open with a knife from his pocket and drew out
a single piece of paper. As he read it, she was surprised to see his eyes go wide and then become shuttered. She held out her hand from her position crouched beside Edward, and he shook his head. “Think I’ll ’ang on to this.”

He folded it and tucked it into a top breast pocket of his tattered coat. He could afford a hundred new velvet ones, but he only ever wore clothing that looked slightly worse for wear.

“Let me read it at least. We need to know what’s going on—more than you do. And how did you think this”—she gestured at Edward on his wooden chair, her voice climbing higher—“would help? What is it supposed to achieve?” She was poking a lion with a very sharp stick. She knew it, but she was suddenly angry enough not to care.

He shook his head slowly at her. “Charlie, when it’s you, all bets are off.”

She tugged the last knot free and let the ropes fall to the ground, then rose and stepped back from Edward, giving him room to stand. She watched him anxiously. “I’m sorry.”

Edward didn’t get up. He sat back more comfortably in the chair and turned an unreadable face to her. “You’re not the one who snatched me off the street.” He looked around the room. “Is this where the two Crown agents I sent out asking questions were murdered?”

Bill hissed in a breath, his head jerking in Luke’s direction. Charlotte saw Luke give a tiny shake of his head, then point down the stairs.

Bill moved quietly and fast for a man of his size. He took the stairs without saying a word. They were all silent until
they heard the door she’d locked behind her in the study below open and then close.

“If you sent the first lot, what’s to say you didn’t send the second?” Luke propped himself up against the center wooden support of the room.

“I didn’t need to. I’ve had a chat to Miss Raven since my men’s … disappearance, and she told me what I wanted to know.”

Luke looked across at her then, and she stared back.

His eyes narrowed. “So, you work for the Crown. And you send your agents to make personal inquiries for you?”

“It was a private arrangement, paid for with my own funds, on their time off, but that doesn’t make their murder any less serious. They were agents of the Crown, and there will be an inquiry.”

Luke sneered. “I’m not worried about that.”

“No,” Edward said. “I don’t imagine you are.”

Charlotte heaved a deep sigh, and both men looked at her, challenge and dislike for each other still reflected in their eyes. “I’m tired. Luke, until you give back that letter, it’s pointless to talk, unless you two like snarling at each other. Time to go.” She looked pointedly at Edward.

Luke’s head jerked at that. “What do you mean? You’re not leaving with this nob.”

His voice was imperious. Incredulous. As if Charlotte was contemplating something beyond the pale. He couldn’t have sounded more like a disapproving denizen of the ton if he’d tried.

Charlotte snapped. She almost heard the sound inside her as her patience finally gave. She had Luke by the front of his shirt before she even understood what she was about to do. She jerked him down, so he towered over her less, and she was so angry, not even the almost comical confusion and disbelief on his face could slow her down.

“I have had
enough
. Enough of being spied on, enough of worrying that any man I look so much as sideways at will find himself robbed and beaten before morning. I have given a lot to you, Luke, and while I’m the first to admit you have given a lot back, this has gone too far. I can’t do this anymore.” Her voice broke on the last sentence, and she realized she was weeping. Weeping like she had done over Luke’s broken body when she’d gotten him back from the Hulks. It was as if that same terrible sorrow and pain was back, sitting on her chest like a stone. She let go of his shirt, pushing him away, and he stumbled back, his face white—for once the mask he always wore pulled away by the force of her grief.

“No matter what you’ve done to me since I left,” she whispered, “never once have I wished you anything but free. Anything but happy. Why can’t you wish the same for me?”

She groped blindly for the stairs, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

“Charlie.” He called her name once, but she shook her head and kept moving.

There was nothing more to say.

18

“I
want to kill you.” Luke Bracken stared at him from the dark corner where Charlotte had shoved him. From the way he stood, breathing hard, fists clenched, he looked ready to take Edward apart with his bare hands.

Edward stood at last, sorry now that he hadn’t done so earlier. He was stiff from lack of movement, and from the beating he’d taken. His reflexes would not be as quick as they would need to be. He rolled his shoulders.

“Stay away from her.” Luke’s voice had lost its cool. It was thick and shaking.

“I won’t.” Edward stepped away from the chair. “I wouldn’t, anyway, but she’s caught up in my sister’s troubles, and I intend to help them both.”

“You planning to marry a grubby street urchin, my lord?” There was challenge in Luke’s eyes as he took the first step forward. Challenge and a simmering, righteous anger at what he thought Edward would say to that.

Edward hesitated. He hadn’t thought of marriage. He hadn’t thought of anything, except that he did not want to leave her alone. “I intend to find out if I do or not. I only met her just over a week ago.”

“I’ve known her since she was four years old. A tiny, thin little thing, eyes too big in her face, the smallest little nose you ever saw.” Luke relaxed his hands.

“She’s not four anymore.” Edward got his fists ready.

“I protected her then, and I’ll keep doing it.” Luke took a swing at him, the move so sudden he was caught by surprise, his head snapping back under the force of the blow.

Pain danced over his jaw, and he shook his head to clear it as he moved back. “You’re not protecting her, you’re manipulating her. Imprisoning her.” Edward lunged forward with a jab and grazed the side of Luke’s face as he dodged. “You’re worse than any nob at trying to control her.” He panted the words out, stalking Luke around the room, jabbing at him. Sidestepping as he jabbed back. “At least I’m not forcing her to do as I say.”

It was as if Luke went berserk. With a cry, he launched himself at Edward, wild, deadly, fists and elbows and knees aimed without accuracy, but with such speed and strength, Edward had no choice but to lift his arms protectively.

As suddenly as it began, Luke stopped, crumpled to the floor, skin ashen, with sweat beaded on his brow and upper lip.

Edward knew that look. He’d seen it on his mother’s face enough times before she died. “Where are you hurt?” He hadn’t thought Luke had bashed into anything, and he
hadn’t connected hard enough or often enough to have caused this.

The eyes Luke lifted to his were so poisoned with hatred, his mouth went dry and his heart beat faster.