.
“We’ll put another two men at this entrance and then another two down the alley.” Simon pointed to a map that had been constructed of Mena’s house. It was something they’d had for a year, but up until now, Morgan had never cared to look at the minor details. It was different staring at the house of the woman he planned to marry, deciding where she was most vulnerable, and finding he didn’t like it at all.
“Unless Creed brings a horde of men to this dinner, it will be easy to take him if we have to,” Simon said, and it wasn’t a lie.
Morgan, like the others, had all bought homes in not only safe areas but ones that had a design that allowed men to always have a place in each room that kept his back safe. Mena’s home made her the perfect victim if a man was so inclined to make her one.
It was yet another reason to rush the wedding, though he doubted it was reason enough for her to agree.
The other reasons had less to do with safety and more to do with an all-consuming need to make her his. Completely. Utterly and wholly.
And to finally give himself to someone with equal measure.
He’d never thought he’d want that so much, to give himself over to anyone’s hands, but Mena had bound him with her smiles. Just like one of his ships that pulled into the bay, he was well fastened to her, secured and attached in a way that had no weak points.
Philomena was everything. She was life and hope and he needed her.
He regretted ruining their tryst in the closet. Nothing in his life had come close to making him feel as happy as he’d been in her arms. If he were less honorable, he could see himself abandoning duty to his country and men just so he could take her far away to a place where he existed as nothing but her husband. There’d be no Lord Durham. No spy. He’d simply be Morgan, the man who fell for Philomena. A love untouchable and unimagined by even the most famed poets.
He touched his side where it had started to ache. He’d been standing too long today. He was currently in his sitting room, only a few feet away from his bedchamber, and once the meeting ended, he planned to go there and simply think about Mena.
He wanted to dream about her.
What he didn’t want to do was make a plan that would upset her if she ever discovered what the men were up to.
“Place a man on the balcony as well,” Warren said.
“The balcony?” Lucas leaned back and crossed his arms.
Warren smiled. “That’s how Sopherina snuck into my house.” While the world had thought Sopherina dead, she’d later confessed that she’d been training with Sir Max St. Cloud on the Isle of Wight. He’d also trained the men, and it went without saying that Sopherina was very skilled. While she’d debated on what she would do once allowed to return to the world, she’d slipped repeatedly into Warren’s bedchamber and visited him while he’d been abed. She’d done so for months and all the visits had been unknown to him.
“Two men on the balcony,” Simon said. “They’ll have to keep themselves well-hidden as to not give themselves away until that becomes necessary.”
Simon was going on the belief that dinner could be a great opportunity not only for their side, but Creed’s as well, meaning there was a chance that Mena— unknowingly— could be leading them all into a trap. Why else would Creed have agreed to let her marry him?
Their conversation was interrupted when Ralph burst into the room, his hands gripping the doorframe as though he would be leaving the moment his words left his lips. There was urgency in his posture and every man in the room went still. His eyes looked at everyone before landing on him and Morgan stiffened.
“Mena.” He knew it before Ralph said a word. The pain in his side took an inferior position in his mind as he stood. “What happened?” He heard the other chairs scrape back and feet settle.
“There was a carriage incident. Her driver was stabbed.”
He flinched at the news. It was the second stabbing in as many days. “And Philomena?”
“She was only a witness.” Ralph’s grimace, however, implied the news didn’t make him that happy.
“Did the driver make it?” Simon asked.
Ralph shook his head.
Morgan moved past him and started toward his front door. “Where is she?”
“Some of the people on the street saw her and Mrs. Gale home. I sent one of the other men to see it done.” Ralph, along with three other spies, had been following Philomena’s every move but had been told not to interact with her until it became vital. That a knife had been produced so close to Mena for a second time in less than a week didn’t sit well with him.
The others were on his heels when he made it to his carriage.
“Do you think Creed behind this?” Simon asked as he entered with Ralph at his heels. Warren and Lucas also followed.
“I don’t know,” Morgan said. “I don’t understand why he’d go after her.” He turned to Ralph. “I want to know everything that happened.”
Ralph didn’t hesitate to relay the story. When he was finished, he said, “It was clear that Mena was not his mark if this was planned. He took her purse but didn’t harm her. One of our men went after him but found he’d disappeared once they’d reached the corner onto a busy street.”
“You think he had transport waiting?” Lucas asked.
“It’s likely,” Ralph said. “Though I’m not sure.”
“What would Creed gain from scaring her?” Warren asked.
Morgan sighed. “Maybe it’s something else.”
“No.” Simon shook his head. “It’s Creed. I can feel it.”
“Perhaps now she’ll rush the wedding,” Warren said.
Morgan looked at him and even though his gut was twisting at the news that Mena had witnessed death, if there was anything good to come out of this, it was that. He didn’t want Mena alone anymore. He wanted her under his protection, in his home, surrounded by his men when she left their house.
He focused his thoughts on the issue that they had the potential to solve quickly. If they could eliminate Creed from Philomena’s life, then she was all the safer. “What have we found out about the play?”
“Nothing,” Lucas said. “No one seemed to have recognized men with Thomas, Luke, or John’s descriptions and since they are men who would easily stand out, we have to believe that they’ve no part in the play or the theatre.”
“Then why would Thomas have been humming the tune to a song that hasn’t been played for English ears before? The play has yet to debut.”
“We don’t know.” Simon stared out the window into the black night with a watchful gaze. He was often in that position, as though he could see more than what actually lay before his eyes. “Perhaps he heard it from someone, a woman he’s intimate with, someone who's connected to the theatre.”
And yet again, they had nothing.
Creed slipped through their fingers at every turn.
Silas had no more information for them and had returned to the post he’d left and was working to hire new men until they knew what to do with him.
The carriage stopped, and Morgan leaped out and ran through the door that opened before he’d fully approached.
He used his knowledge of the map to take him where he needed to go and didn’t knock before entering the last room upstairs.
Mena’s head came up and he saw her face in the lantern light. Her relieved expression settled over his heart and he closed the door behind him. The other men would wait for him to give them word and would probably use the time to become better acquainted with the house.
All Morgan wanted to do was comfort Mena.
He’d just made it to her side when the first sob broke from her lips, and he sat on the edge and gathered her close.
She was trembling, and her fingers bit into his arms. He felt her terror. It broke over him just as her every other emotion did, which raised his own anger that someone had thought to cause her pain.
“He just… died,” she choked. “I tried to lift him.” Her reddened eyes found his. “I tried to lift him like I did for you.” She started shaking her head in a way that he thought she’d never stop. “I tried to save him.”
“He was probably dead before he hit the ground,” he whispered. He placed a hand on the back of her neck to calm her. “There was nothing you could do. Don’t blame yourself.”
“But I was th-there.” She bit her lip and a wounded sound was pulled from her throat; tears continued to fall.
“It’s all right,” he told her, trying to pull her head toward him.
She fought his hand, placing her hands on his chest and shoving away. “But I was there, Morgan.” Her eyes looked up at him, pleading. “Just like I was there with you.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Just like I was there with him.”
Him.
Her father. Morgan knew she was thinking of him again.
“None of this is your fault.” He forced her closer and held the top of her blond head as another set of tears fell. He spoke through the worst of it, assuring her of her innocence. How she blamed herself for the actions of another, he didn’t know, but he let her know that she was responsible for her own actions and no one else’s. “You did a good thing, trying to give that man a coin.”
When the crying stopped again, it was abrupt, and she stiffened before leaning away. “How do you know such details?”
He touched her wet cheek. “Ralph told me.” And knowing what her next question would be, he went on, “I’ve been having you followed for your safety.”
Her eyes widened. “I was followed?”
“But not close enough.” He frowned. “They were told to stay away. You weren’t to know they were there, but I will be changing that. From now on, you will be protected at all times.”
She blinked but then nodded. “London is getting worse. I’ve never seen such rampant violence before.”
He rubbed her hair and stroked her hand around the soft golden braid that fell there. She wore a night rail, he just noticed. The material was thin and translucent. He kept his eyes on her face with great effort.
“Why do you think that is?” she asked.
Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know, but I plan to find out. Until I do, you’re safer with someone protecting you.”
She looked away, staring at her wall before nodding again. “It is better to be protected, isn’t it?” She looked at him, staring into his eyes. “You never know what might happen. I should be prepared.” She looked past him toward her dresser.
He looked as well, taking note of the powders, bottles, and letterbox before finding his own reflection in the mirror with hers beside him, though slightly out of sight. But her face was there, hidden in shadows as was his. They were silhouettes.
She placed her hand on his face. “How are you healing?”
“I’m suffered worse. This is but a scratch.” He didn’t want her to worry, but he was telling her the truth. The wound now itched more than anything else. Only when he was on his feet did it bother him. When he concentrated, its throbbing became worse, so he decided to concentrate on her. “I’ll make sure no further harm comes your way.”
She smiled. “And I’ll do the same for you.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist. He was glad to see some laughter return to her eyes. He knew the nightmare was not over. Seeing murder was never an easy thing to accept, and this was her second dead body. He pulled her closer until their bodies touched, hip to hip. “What will you protect me from?”
“Everything,” she promised. Her blue eyes were sharp and full of a conviction that bothered him, though he didn’t know why. There was something about her look, but he put it aside and focused on her words.
She wanted to protect him.
He wondered if he’d ever been with another woman who’d wished to do so, yet Mena’s heart seemed just as strong as it was gentle.
But he didn’t wish her running into danger for him.
He lifted his hand and grazed his knuckles across her cheek and chin. “The best way to protect me is to remain safe. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”
“Or I you.” And then she leaned forward and kissed him.