To Taste Temptation (29 page)

“Really?” Rebecca asked politely. “I didn’t know that.”

Mr. Thornton shook his head ruefully as if at the memory of his father’s small business. “I took it over right after I came back from the war in the Colonies. Six years ago, that was. Six long years of hard labor and worry to bring my business to what it is today. Why, I do declare, that I’d kill any man who sought to take my business from me.”

Rebecca was looking curiously at Mr. Thornton now. His words, after all, had been far too emphatic for the conversation. Emeline held her breath, watching the man, and as she stared, he did a very strange thing. He cocked his head at her, grinned widely, and winked one eye.

And Emeline felt a thrill of horror shoot through her completely out of proportion to the gesture he’d made.

S
AM RODE HOME
through the streets of London in a state of angry frustration. Thornton was neither at his home nor his place of business. Some of the information he’d learned today caused him to be anxious that Thornton might try to flee. This together with a kind of animal instinct made urgent the need to find Thornton immediately. Long years of hunting told him that his prey was about to bolt beyond his grasp. If he couldn’t find Thornton today, he’d have to give up the berths he’d bought for Rebecca and himself on
The Hopper,
sailing early on the morrow.

Then, too, staying longer in London would mean more days in proximity to Emeline. He wasn’t certain he could bear being close to her without going stark, raving mad.

A street urchin ran almost directly under his horse’s nose. The horse sidestepped nervously, and Sam had to pay attention to the reins for a moment. The child was long gone, of course. The boy had probably had thousands of such near-misses in his young life, for the streets of London seemed more like a surging river than a thoroughfare. Hawkers screamed their wares at corners and indeed in the middle of the street. Carriages trundled like elephants, inevitably blocking the way with their bulk. Chairmen bearing sedan chairs wove nimbly among the crowd. And people—men, women, children; infants in arms to old men with canes; high, low, and the multitude in between—all crowded round, each on their own business, each in a hurry to get there. It was a wonder that the very air wasn’t used up, inhaled by thousands of lungs.

Sam felt his own lungs seize at the thought, the illusion of all the air being sucked from the atmosphere infecting his brain. But that was nonsense. He concentrated on his horse and the path immediately in front of them, trying to block out the rest of the humanity surrounding them. He could breathe. There was plenty of air, though it reeked of sewage, rot, and smoke. There wasn’t anything at all wrong with his lungs.

He repeated these thoughts until the town house came into view. Rebecca would still be packing, but perhaps he could entice her to stop long enough for an early luncheon. He swung down from his horse just as one of the lumbering carriages drew up to the house next door—Emeline’s house. The crest on the polished black door bore Vale’s coat of arms. Sam quickened his step into his own house. There was no point in meeting Vale again; all that could be said had already been said there.

Inside, he gave his hat and cloak to the butler and inquired where his sister was.

“Miss Hartley has just left, sir,” the butler replied.

“Indeed?” Sam frowned. Had she gone to do some last-minute shopping? “How long ago?”

“About a half hour.”

“By herself? Did she walk or take the carriage?”

“She left in a carriage, sir, with Lady Emeline and Mr. Thornton.”

The butler turned away to hang up the cloak and hat, completely unaware of the effect of his words. Sam stared, his gut freezing into ice at the thought that his sister and his heart had somehow climbed voluntarily into a carriage with a rapist and murderer. But of course it couldn’t be voluntary. He hadn’t told Rebecca of his suspicions regarding Thornton, but Emeline knew of them. Why would she leave with Thornton knowing—

“What have you done with her?”

Sam whirled at the voice in time to be shoved roughly against the wall. A picture crashed to the floor, and Vale thrust his horribly bruised face at him. “Emmie came here over an hour ago. Where is she?”

Sam quelled the urge to simply punch the other man in the face. He’d already done that, and it hadn’t made matters any better. Besides, Vale cared for Emeline as well. “Emeline and Rebecca have left with Thornton.”

Vale sneered. “What rubbish. Why would Emmie go anywhere with that popinjay? You’ve got her hidden somewhere.” He propelled himself away from Sam and stood, legs spread wide in the hall. “Emmie! I say, Emmie! Come out at once!”

Wonderful. His only ally was a fool. Sam turned away, starting for the front door. He hadn’t time to convince Vale of what was really going on.

But another voice stopped him. “It’s true, my lord.”

He swung around to see Vale staring bemusedly at O’Hare the footman. “Who the hell are you?”

O’Hare gave a bow, sketchy enough to almost be insolent. “Both Miss Hartley and Lady Emeline got into Mr. Thornton’s carriage.” He looked past Vale to catch Sam’s eye. “I didn’t like the way he stood so close to Miss Hartley, sir. I think something was wrong.”

Sam didn’t bother asking why O’Hare hadn’t stopped Thornton. In this country, a servant could be turned off without reference—or worse—for such an act. “Do you have any idea where they were headed?”

“Aye, sir. Princess Wharf in Wapping. I heard Mr. Thornton give the direction to the coachman.”

Vale looked bewildered. “Wapping? Why would Thornton take them to a wharf?”

“Wharves mean ships.”

Vale’s eyebrows shot up. “You think he means to kidnap them?”

“God only knows,” Sam replied. “But we haven’t time to stand about debating the point. Come on, we’ll take your carriage.”

“Hold on, there.” Vale grabbed his arm. “What’s the hurry? How do I know that you’re not hiding Emmie here? Or—”

Sam twisted his arm downward, breaking away from the other man. “Because Thornton is the traitor, and he must somehow know that I’ve found him out.”

Vale’s shaggy eyebrows snapped together. “But—”

“I’ve told you, we haven’t the time,” Sam growled. “O’Hare, do you want to help with this?”

The boy didn’t even hesitate. “Yes, sir!”

“Come on.” Sam was out the door and running down the steps without stopping for Vale’s consent. He’d take the waiting carriage even if the other man insisted on staying behind and debating all the possibilities.

But as he made the carriage, he found Vale beside him. “Princess Wharf, Wapping,” the viscount called to his coachman. “Fast as you can.”

All three men piled into the carriage.

“Now,” Vale said as he settled across from Sam and O’Hare. “Tell me.”

Sam had his eyes on the window. Thornton’s carriage had left long ago, but foolishly he still strained to catch sight of it. “MacDonald took Thornton’s place during or shortly after Spinner’s Falls.”

“You have proof?”

“That a soldier we knew six years ago across the ocean is impersonating a different, dead soldier? No, I don’t. He’s probably killed any proof there was.”

O’Hare shifted beside Sam. The young man hadn’t spoken since they entered the carriage, but his face was worried. The carriage slowed to a roll. Shouts came from the street ahead.

Sam barely kept himself from pounding on the carriage’s roof. He turned to O’Hare. “There were two redheaded soldiers, you see. One was Thornton; one was MacDonald. No one paid attention to them until MacDonald was put in chains and brought back for trial.”

“What had he done, then?” the footman asked.

Sam looked at Vale.

Who pursed his lips and nodded once. “Raped and murdered a woman.”

O’Hare’s face whitened.

“I can understand how MacDonald could’ve switched identities with Thornton in the chaos after Spinner’s Falls, but what of when he came home to England? Surely Thornton had family?”

“A wife.” Sam shook his head. “And she died soon after he came home.”

“Ah.” Vale nodded thoughtfully.

“But what does he want with the ladies now?” O’Hare burst out.

“I don’t know,” Sam muttered. Was Thornton insane? If his guesses were right, the man had murdered two women that they knew of. What would such a man do with the women of a man he considered his enemy?

“Extortion,” Vale said. “Perhaps he hopes to keep you from speaking, Hartley, by holding Rebecca and Emeline hostage.”

Sam closed his eyes at the thought, trying to keep down the voices inside that urged him to move rather than think. “Thornton is smarter than that.”

Vale shrugged. “Even the smartest man can panic.”

A man like Thornton would kill if he panicked.

“How far is it?” Sam asked.

Jasper was staring out the window, too, now. “Wapping? Past the Tower of London.”

Sam sucked in a breath. They were still on the fashionable west side of London. The Tower was a mile or more away, and the carriage wasn’t moving fast.

“I just remembered something,” Jasper muttered.

Sam looked at him.

The other man’s face had drained of color. “When we saw Thornton in your garden, after we went into your house for tea, he boasted to me about a large shipment he was preparing for the British army.”

“Where was it bound?”

Jasper swallowed, then replied, “India.”

Sam felt his heart stop in his chest. If Thornton got Emeline and Rebecca on a ship bound for India...

The carriage slowed and then came to a complete stop. Sam looked out the window. A brewer’s cart was stopped in the middle of the road, one of its great wheels broken from the axle. He didn’t even wait for the inevitable shouting to begin. He opened the carriage door.

“Where are you going?” Vale cried.

“I’m faster on foot,” Sam replied. “You continue in the carriage. Perhaps you’ll beat me there.”

And he swung down and began running.

At the sight of Iron Heart’s white-hot heart, Princess Solace gave a cry of despair. His agony was too terrible for her to bear. She ran forward and with her own hands threw a bucket of water upon him, intending to ease his pain. But, alas, although the flames were doused, it is well known what happens when metal suddenly cools.

Iron Heart’s heart cracked with a loud SNAP....

—from
Iron Heart

The gun was pressed firmly into Rebecca’s rib cage and didn’t move a whit even when the carriage bumped and swung around corners. Emeline bit her lip. To either side of her, two great brutes, Mr. Thornton’s creatures, sat, effectively boxing her in. She and Rebecca had never even seen the men until they were inside the carriage. Not that it would’ve mattered. Mr. Thornton had shoved his nasty gun into Rebecca and ordered them both outside and into his carriage, and Emeline hadn’t liked to call his bluff at the time. The peril of having Rebecca die before her eyes had seemed all too imminent.

Now, after riding with Mr. Thornton and his foul-smelling henchmen, she wasn’t sure she’d made the right decision. He still might kill them both once they reached the wharf. She’d been contemplating making an attempt at leaping from the carriage for the last several minutes. Unfortunately, she’d have to make it past the brutes first, and that was without considering the gun pressed against Rebecca’s side. Emeline had not a smidgen of doubt that Mr. Thornton would pull the trigger out of spite if nothing else. The man was quite, quite mad. How he had hidden his affliction up until this point was a mystery, because he was a bundle of ticcing nerves now. Mr. Thornton grinned and winked every few minutes, the expression becoming more like a grimace each time.

“Almost there, ladies,” he said now, again winking in that horrible way. “Ever been to the East? No? Well, most haven’t, I suppose. What a grand adventure we’ll have!”

The man to Emeline’s right grunted and shifted, the movement releasing a terrible odor from his scarlet coat. The carriage was rattling into the east end of London, the way lined with warehouses. Overhead, the sky outside was becoming progressively darker.

Emeline clutched her hands together in her lap and tried to make her voice even. “You may let us out here, Mr. Thornton. There really is no need to take us any farther.”

“Oh, but I enjoy your company so much,” the nasty little man cackled.

Emeline inhaled slowly, then spoke quietly. “Our presence only serves as a reason for Jasper and Samuel to continue pursuing you. Let us go and you may escape.”

“How kind of you to consider my welfare, my lady,” he replied. “But I think that your fiancé and Samuel Hartley will pursue me whether or not I let you go. Mr. Hartley in particular seems quite obsessed. I’ve had my eye on him”—he nodded to the scarlet-coated thug beside her—“from the moment I heard that he was questioning all of the survivors from our regiment. So, all things being equal, I think I’ll keep your sweet company.”

Emeline met Rebecca’s gaze. The girl hadn’t said a word since they’d been forced into the carriage, but in her eyes, Emeline saw the same despair that threatened to overset her own sensibilities. It made no sense at all for Mr. Thornton to have kidnapped them, and the very senselessness squeezed her chest, making her breath come short.

Outside, the rain started, as sudden as a curtain falling at the end of a play. She needed to think, and the time they had might be short.

She very much feared that Mr. Thornton meant to kill them.

T
HE SKY OPENED
up and rain poured down in a drenching torrent. Sam flinched as the first wave hit him like a slap in the face, but he kept running. The rain actually made things a little easier. Those who could immediately sought shelter, fleeing from the streets as fast as they were able. Unfortunately, that still left quite a few vehicles. The brewer’s cart, for instance, probably still blocked Vale’s carriage. Sam leapt a row of broken cobblestones, turned by the rain into a miniature urban brook, and focused his mind on running. He couldn’t do anything about what lay in back of him or what lay ahead. For now, running was his entire being.

The carriage had been somewhere on Fleet Street when it had stopped, but Sam had cut off the busy thoroughfare. He ran parallel to the Thames now, the river out of sight somewhere to his right.

He felt the stretch in the muscles of his legs as he fought for even more speed. He hadn’t run like this—full out, in desperation and hope—since Spinner’s Falls. Then, no matter how he’d strained, he’d still arrived too late. Reynaud had died.

He swerved to avoid a young girl carrying a baby and crashed into a bulky man in a leather apron. The man swore and tried to strike him, but Sam was already past him. His feet hurt, sharp shards of pain working their way up his shins. He wondered if he’d reopened the wounds on his soles.

And then the smell hit him.

Whether it was from the leather-aproned man or someone he passed now, or maybe it was just a product of his fevered imagination, he didn’t know, but he smelled sweat. Male sweat. Oh, God, not now. He kept his eyes open and his legs pumping, though he wanted to cover his face and slump to the ground. The dead of Spinner’s Falls seemed to follow him. Invisible bodies that reeked of sweat and blood. Ghostly hands that caught at his sleeves and implored him to wait. He’d felt these wraiths in the forest after Spinner’s Falls. They’d followed him all the way to Fort Edward. Sometimes he’d even seen them, a boy’s eyes hollowed by fear, the old soldier with his scalp cut away. He’d never known if he’d been dreaming—running while only half awake—or if the dead of Spinner’s Falls had leaked into his living body. Perhaps he carried them everywhere and only knew it when he was in distress. Perhaps he’d always carry them, the way some men carried shrapnel beneath their skin, a silent ache, an invisible reminder of what he’d survived.

He ran through a wash of water, the splashes hitting him in the thighs. Not that it mattered; his clothes had long since soaked through. He was running closer to the wharves now, and he could smell the decay of the river. Tall warehouses rose up on either side of the lane he ran down. His breath came in gasps, and there was a scorching pain in his side. He’d lost track of time, couldn’t tell how long or how far he’d been running. What if they were already at the ship? What if Thornton had already killed them?

His mind suddenly flashed a horrific image: Emeline sprawled, naked and bloody, her face white and still. No! He squeezed his eyes shut against the sight and stumbled, slamming to his hands and knees on the cobblestones.

“Watch it!” a gruff male voice shouted.

Sam opened his eyes to see horse hooves inches from his face. He scrambled clumsily away, still on his knees, as the cart driver cursed his ancestry. His knees ached, especially his right one, which must’ve taken the brunt of the fall, but Sam stood.

Ignoring the driver, ignoring the breath rasping in his lungs, ignoring his pain, he started running again.

Emeline.

T
HE CARRIAGE MADE
a wide turn, and Emeline could see the docks outside the window. The rain was still sheeting down, veiling tall ships out in the middle of the Thames. Smaller vessels crowded between the ships, ferrying goods and sometimes people between ship and shore. Normally, the docks would be full of laborers, prostitutes, and the gangs of thieves that made their livings off filching from the ships’ cargos. But because of the rain, the wharf was sparsely populated.

The carriage shuddered to a stop.

Mr. Thornton dug his pistol into Rebecca’s side. “Time to get out, Miss Hartley.”

Rebecca didn’t move. She turned a heartbreakingly brave face to their kidnapper. “What are you going to do with us?”

Mr. Thornton cocked his head and gave his gruesome grin and wink. “Nothing terrible, I assure you. Why, I have a mind to show you the world. Come and see.”

Oddly, his mundane pleasantry confirmed all of Emeline’s worst fears. She looked out the carriage door at the rain-grayed waters of the Thames. If they got onto a ship with Thornton, they weren’t likely to survive the journey. But at the moment they had no choice. Thornton nodded to the men on either side of her.

“Move on,” the scarlet-coated henchman to Emeline’s right grunted. He wrapped sausagelike fingers about her upper arm, no doubt leaving grease marks. He was slightly the shorter of the two and sported a frayed tricorne. Mr. Thornton must not pay him well, because his boots were nearly all holes and a grimy big toe poked through the leather on one.

Emeline smiled tightly at Rebecca, trying to give her a bit of courage, before gathering her skirts. She stepped out of the carriage and into the rain, the thug’s hand still on her. The second thug followed. He was a tall, stringy man with enormously long arms and thinning gray hair. He hunched his shoulders and stood mute as Mr. Thornton descended with Rebecca.

“Now,” Thornton said, smiling. He smiled at
everything.
“Let’s hurry. There should be a boat waiting to take us to
The Sea Tiger.
I’m sure you ladies will want to get out of the rain. If we—”

But he didn’t finish the sentence. Rebecca pulled abruptly from his grasp, ducking to the side and behind the tall, balding henchman. For a fraction of a second, Mr. Thornton didn’t know where to point the gun, and it wavered. Then he grinned that horrible grin and brought the barrel around, pointing it at Emeline’s belly.

She froze. There was a long moment in time as she watched him wink and steady his aim, knowing that she was about to be killed.

And then she wasn’t.

Samuel ran out of nowhere and threw himself against Thornton’s gun arm, deflecting his aim. The gun exploded, sending chips of cobblestone into the air. The tall, balding henchman leaped at Samuel, grabbing him from behind, and all three men went down in a writhing heap of desperate arms and legs. Rebecca screamed and pulled at the balding henchman’s coat. The scarlet-coated thug let go of Emeline’s arm, but before he could move, she brought her heel down on the toe that poked through his boot. The man howled and lashed out. Emeline saw a burst of white stars as his hand connected with the side of her head, and then she found herself on the ground, lying in a cold puddle of water.

“Are you all right?” Rebecca gasped beside her.

“Samuel,” Emeline whispered. He was under all three men now, almost hidden by the legs kicking him, the arms hitting him. They would beat him to death before her very eyes if she didn’t do something.

There were no pieces of wood, no stones to pry up. All she had was herself, so Emeline used that. She scrambled to her feet and ran at the awful little man and his henchmen. She clutched a head of hair and yanked. The man she was holding—one of the henchmen—shouldered her aside. Emeline staggered, almost falling, but got up again. She threw herself, kicking, shrieking, clawing, at the bodies attacking Samuel. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rebecca pummeling the back of one of the men, her fists small and puny. The rain mixed with hot salty tears on Emeline’s face, and she was half-blinded, but she wasn’t going to give up. If they killed Samuel, they would have to kill her, too.

Her slipper connected with Mr. Thornton’s rump, and he twisted to look at her with a comically astonished expression. Samuel took advantage of the other man’s distraction and punched him in the face. Mr. Thornton’s head snapped back, and he rolled to the cobblestones, a hand outstretched to break his fall. He made to get up, and Emeline stomped on his outstretched hand, feeling quite pleased when something snapped beneath her heel.

Thornton screamed.

Behind Emeline, a gunshot exploded.

“Good God, Emmie, I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty,” a male voice said.

Emeline looked up and saw Jasper descending a carriage with a footman behind him. The footman had a gun in each hand, the right one smoking.

Fear and exasperation overflowed all of her good manners. “Jasper, don’t be an idiot. Come help Samuel at once!”

Jasper, not surprisingly, looked startled. “Right you are, Emmie. You two, get off Mr. Hartley. Slowly, now.”

The thugs glanced at each other glumly and got to their feet, backing away from Samuel. He lay so still, the rain beating on his pale face.

Emeline rushed to him, terribly afraid. “Samuel.” She’d seen him punch Mr. Thornton, but now he didn’t move. “Samuel!” She knelt on the filthy, wet cobblestones and tenderly touched her fingertips to his cheek.

He opened his eyes. “Emeline.”

“Yes.” It was insane, but she couldn’t keep from smiling at him in the rain, with hot tears trickling down her cheeks. “Yes.” God only knew what she was saying, but Samuel seemed to understand.

He turned his head and kissed her palm with bruised lips, and her heart rejoiced.

Then his gaze sharpened and he looked behind her. “Have they got Thornton?”

He started to sit up, and she put her shoulder under his to help him. “Yes, Jasper has it all under control.”

In fact, the footman was tying the two henchmen’s hands to Mr. Thornton’s carriage while Rebecca held the guns. Jasper had hold of Mr. Thornton.

“What shall we do with him now?” Jasper asked. He looked like he was holding a piece of offal.

“Toss him in the river,” the footman growled over his shoulder, and Rebecca smiled at him.