Chapter Twenty-Two
“Try not to hit every rut in the road this time, ye miserable old sot.”
Gerard approached Fergus Royce as he readied their coach for the return to Houghton Manor. The driver flashed an exaggerated scowl.
“Bluidy hell, man, ye look like ye’ve danced with the devil all night,” Gerard said.
Fergus grinned a craggy-toothed smile. “Not with the devil, but with a feisty lass who may once have been his mistress.”
God above, the man was a tom cat, always on the prowl for a friendly widow with conveniently flexible morals. As a younger man, Fergus had buried three wives lost to childbirth and fever. Now, he sought a warm woman and a warm bed for a night, not a lifetime.
“And which feisty lass might this have been?”
“Did ye notice the Spencers’ cook givin’ me the eye when we arrived?” Fergus puffed out his chest. “Dressed in my finery as I was, ’tis no wonder.”
Gerard smiled to himself. “Aye, I did spy the woman sending a glance or two yer way. She’s a widow, is she not?”
“Aye. Lookin’ for another ring on her finger, she is. But I’m not the one to give it to her.”
Harrison approached, the lightness of his step betraying he’d had far more sleep than either Fergus or Gerard. Seeing Fergus’s rumpled appearance, he slowly shook his head. “Is there any place you venture where you do not find a woman willing to share her bed with you?”
“I could show ye a few tricks o’ the trade, lad, if ye take my meaning.”
“That’ll be quite all right. I manage well enough on my own.” Harrison smiled. “I’ll return to Houghton Manor with the coach, then make my way to the rendezvous with our courier. He’s designated a location within a few miles of the house, an old church.”
“Good enough. See what he can dig up about that photographer, Westbrook. I overheard a couple of the ladies gushing about the bloke over tea this morning—apparently, Lady Houghton has invited the man and his blasted camera to the estate.”
“I am familiar with his work,” Harrison said, ever the connoisseur of highbrowed artistic rubbish. “I would not rank him with Matthew Brady, but he does possess considerable talent.”
“I dinnae doubt the ladies will agree.” Gerard resisted the urge to scowl, if only a small sneer. “Find out what ye can about the man. I want to know as much as possible about anyone who is going to be staying at the estate. Especially a man who conveniently charmed that bonny dragon of a woman into offering an invitation.”
Hunched over a diagram of the estate he’d spread over a table in Houghton’s spacious study, Gerard mapped out his primary strategy for protecting the women in the event an intruder breached the grounds. He’d share his conclusions with Harrison and the laird of the manor upon his brother’s return.
“Returning to Inverness to supervise his patients’ ongoing treatment must prove rather taxing on Dr. MacMasters. I must say, I am impressed at his dedication to their care.”
Gerard lifted his eyes to meet Grace Winterborne’s intent gaze.
“Aye, my brother is nothing if not dedicated,” Gerard said. It went without saying he was not about to point out to Miss Winterborne that Harrison had not traveled to the city today, but rather, to a remote inn where he was to meet with their contact on the investigation.
“It is rare to find a man who puts the well-being of others ahead of his own,” she went on. The look in those big, brown eyes of hers confirmed Gerard’s suspicion that the bonny lass possessed an interest in more than Harrison’s medical skills.
“Aye,” he agreed. This was a distraction he had not counted on. Of course, he had not anticipated most of the occurrences that had torn his mind from duty since he’d encountered Evelyn outside the bookseller’s shop.
She glanced down to the document at his fingertips. “The manor is grand, isn’t it? If my father were to visit, he’d want one for himself.”
“A manor?”
“Papa has homes in several states.” A thin smile pulled at her mouth, a look of fondness and good memories. “You might say he’s a collector. When he sees one he particularly likes, he has a replica built in some new place.”
The revelation intrigued him. “How many does he have in all?”
“Hmmm… At last count, I believe he had six. The last place he had constructed is a charming cottage on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Quite a remarkable view of the Pamlico Sound. Of course, I’m not sure cottage is the most accurate word to describe it. As I recall, the place has six bedrooms, a billiard room, and a room that houses Papa’s collection of Birmingham Dribblers.”
“Birmingham…?”
She smiled at his obvious confusion. “Miniature locomotives. The contraptions are made of brass and steam-propelled. I loved to play with them when I was a girl.”
“So, Miss Winterborne, which one of the houses do you call home?”
She gave a little sigh. “I suppose that would be the Buffalo mansion. After the war, Papa returned to the city where he’d grown up. As a child, he’d lived in some wretched tenement. Over the years, he made his fortune in lumber and built a grand house for Mama and me.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Winterborne,” Harrison announced himself as he strode casually into the chamber.
She smiled and uttered a perfunctory response. “Good afternoon, Dr. MacMasters. Your brother and I were just discussing this lovely house.” She tapped a finger nervously against the surface of the desk. “If I bring a photograph of this place home with me after the wedding, I will have to keep it hidden from Papa.”
Harrison’s forehead creased into furrows. “Why would you need to hide it?”
“So he will not decide to build one for himself,” she said, as if the notion of a man building mansions on a whim was quite ordinary.
“I see.” Harrison looked more puzzled. “By the way, I noticed the ladies gathering in the garden. As I understand it, the photographer is setting up to take portraits of the bridesmaids.”
“They are expecting me to join them.” She sighed. Her lips thinned as she pointed to the bodice of her white gown, specifically to the high lace collar that brushed her jawline. “Lady Houghton insists I wear this infernal dress. Suffice it to say it is not in the least bit comfortable. Of course, there is also the concern that I may get a spot of dirt or grass on it. Sally certainly does not want her bridesmaids covered in debris on her wedding day.”
“That is indeed a quandary,” Harrison said, managing to pull an appropriately vague yet sympathetic response out of his arse.
“If it were up to me, Mr. Westbrook would wait until the day of the wedding and set up his camera within the chapel. Quite honestly, I do not give a fig whether or not the setting speaks to him.” Her features settled into a frown, and she sighed. “Gentlemen, I do apologize. I realize I must sound incredibly shallow. It’s just…” She pulled in a breath, then released it. “I cannot say I am eagerly anticipating the experience. There is something about that man… I can’t put my finger on it.”
A muscle in Harrison’s jaw clenched. “Has Westbrook made you feel uncomfortable in his presence?”
Gerard observed the pair without offering comment, allowing Harrison to take the lead. How easily the American lass triggered his protective instincts.
“I can’t quite put it into words, but there is something rather false about the man.”
“Has anything in particular given you pause?” Harrison continued his line of questioning.
“Call it feminine intuition, for lack of a better explanation…but I cannot bring myself to trust the man. I overheard him speaking to Lady Evelyn, urging her to serve as his… Oh, what was the word?” She pursed her lips. “Muse.”
“Muse, eh?” Gerard kept his voice free of emotion.
“Yes, that was it. I realize he is an artist, subject to an artist’s passions—”
Like a whirlwind, Lady Houghton swept into the room. “Good heavens, here ye are, lass. We’ve been looking high and low for ye.” She flashed the men a smile. Her attention flickered back to Grace. “Now, come along, dear. The others are waiting. In this heat, they’re wilting fast.”
With a grim little wave to Harrison, Grace followed Lady Houghton from the room. Hearing the muffled taps of their heels as they made their way along the hall, Harrison strode to the door and latched it shut.
Harrison’s expression turned grim. “I’ve brought word from Inverness.”
“Something tells me I’m not going to like this.”
“You’re right.” Harrison walked to the window and closed it. “We cannot risk being overheard.”
“Has Graham taken a turn for the worse?”
“No, it appears he may recover. He has had brief periods of awareness.”
“What’s troubling ye?”
Harrison drummed his fingers against the back of the settee. “Graham was more coherent last night. He managed to confirm he was attacked by a woman. She injected some sort of poison with a syringe.”
“Was he able to provide a description?”
“He confirmed the details Lady Evelyn provided. His attacker’s face was veiled, but he insists he heard a woman’s voice.” He cleared his throat. “She demanded the Dragon’s Eyes. Fortunately, it appears Graham had secured the stones.”
“He revealed their location?”
“In his weakened state, he cannot distinguish between friend and foe. He insists he gave a key to an angel for safekeeping.”
“An angel?”
“Lady Evelyn, most likely.” Harrison rubbed the back of his neck, as if to knead away a sudden ache.
“Ye’re certain the old man is not still delirious?”
“We believe he gave her some type of oracle card. The symbols provide a map to the emeralds.”
“A blasted card? God above, it could be anywhere.”
“The proverbial needle in a haystack.” Harrison spared the map on the table a glance. “I presume you’ve been mapping out strategies for defense?”
Gerard nodded. “We need to make Houghton aware of the vulnerabilities of the estate.”
“There’s cause to believe the collector who seeks the Dragon’s Eyes will come after the card. He will not entrust this task to the assassin. But once he’s got what he wants, anyone who knows about the card will be eliminated.”
Apprehension gripped Gerard’s gut. Evelyn was truly in danger—and they were no closer to identifying the assailant.
He would protect her.
He would not fail.
Not this time.
“The bastard will have to show himself.”
“I’m positive of it.” Harrison’s expression was grim. “The collector wants that card… He’s willing to kill for it. With it, he will be able to retrieve the amulet. He will make his presence known. The only question is when.”
…
Weary from the demands of an artist who expected the ladies to pose in the stifling heat without displaying so much as a bead of perspiration, Evelyn limped back into the mansion. Her slippers chafed, while layers of white fabric clung to her body like so many yards of damp rags.
In the midday sun, Sally had flushed red as a freshly plucked apple. At one point, Evelyn feared she might faint. But the bride-to-be had valiantly carried on, forcing a smile even as a bee buzzed around her veil.
Evelyn spotted Gerard as she neared the spiral staircase. Silently, he motioned her to follow him to the study. Wasn’t he the cheeky one, risking a scandal in the light of day?
Odd, how she didn’t seem to care anymore. She’d spent a glorious night in Gerard’s bed. More time in his arms would be welcome, indeed. Scandal be damned.
She followed him into the room. Harrison occupied a blue Chippendale chair. She had not expected this. Something was wrong. Very wrong, judging from Harrison’s somber expression.
Gerard locked the door behind them. “I dinnae give a damn about appearances. Evie, this is a matter of life and death.”
“What’s this about?” she asked, not entirely sure she wanted an answer.
“I’ve explained to ye why I…why we…came here, lass. We will protect ye until the threat has passed. But I need something from ye. I need ye to tell me the truth.”
The urgency in his voice washed over her, rippling a shiver along her spine. What had he learned? And what was it he truly wanted from her?
“The truth? Whatever do you mean?”
“The old man in the shop, the man ye came upon—he gave ye something. Ye need to tell me where it is.”
The floor seemed to shift beneath her feet. Was this the motive behind his passionate seductions? Had he held her and kissed her and loved her…all to get his hands on some scrap of paper with a bloody dragon? Her hands began to quiver, damn her weakness.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” The lie she uttered did not sound convincing, even to her own ears.
The slow shake of his head betrayed he’d seen through her. “Yes, ye do, lass. I need ye to trust me. What did the old man give ye?”
“The old man you insisted was a thief…the man you insisted had duped me with a clever act?”
“He was not a thief,” Harrison said, his voice measured and low. “At the time, it was better that you did not know what you’d stumbled upon…or at least, that was the rationale in deceiving you.”
“So, you admit to having deceived me?”
Gerard nodded. “Aye, I saw no choice at the time.”
“Who was the man you claimed was the bookseller?”
“My partner in Inverness.”
She pinned Harrison with her gaze. “Am I to believe you are also a spy?”
“Spy is not the precise word,” he said.
“Then what is the precise term? Do you care to enlighten me?”
“Please, take a seat, and I will explain.” Harrison motioned to the wing chair at his side. “You deserve to understand what is happening.”
Dragging in a calming breath, she complied. “Very well. I am listening.”
“Lady Evelyn, my family is part of an ancient guild dedicated to protecting Scotland’s treasures and artifacts. Over the span of many generations, MacMasters men and women have guarded ancient antiquities from unscrupulous collectors and greedy scavengers. The members of the Antiquities Guild now operate in the Queen’s service.”
Harrison sounded so very serious, she wanted to believe him. If only it wasn’t so incredibly difficult to put any faith in his outlandish tale. His story seemed too convenient. After all, he and his brother were clamoring to get the card into their possession.
But that did not mean he was not telling the truth.
Her pulse stuttered. An invisible dagger pierced her chest. She’d been such a fool. She’d suspected he was a thief. Her theory was not far from the truth. He was a scoundrel, a rogue who’d employed desire to further his own purposes.
And she’d fallen for his deception. She’d nearly convinced herself Gerard’s desire had been rooted in a more enduring emotion. Instead, he’d followed her to Houghton Manor in pursuit of an heirloom. He’d romanced her in anticipation of getting his hands on a treasure he believed she possessed. Wouldn’t the scoundrel be disappointed to learn she had nothing of value—only a fortune-telling card etched with bizarre symbols.
Her heart ached. Was it possible it might actually shatter and splinter into far more pieces than she might ever retrieve?
“You’ve come after the Dragon’s Eyes.” She spoke the words as an accusation. “Tell me… Tell me the truth.”
“Nay, lass. We’ve come after ye,” Gerard said, his words low and raw. “Retrieving the amulet will wait.”
“An amulet?” She sighed. “All of this is over a damned trinket.”
“Trinket?” Harrison slowly shook his head, his expression weary. “The Dragon’s Eyes are priceless emeralds mounted within the piece. Legend has it a powerful warrior queen once possessed that charm. Whoever possesses the amulet is said to be protected against all adversaries.”
“I am quite certain I would know if I possessed precious jewels.”
“We dinnae believe you possess the talisman, but rather, the key to its hiding place.”
“You expect me to believe that you are agents of the Crown, protecting museum pieces, including a supposedly mystical charm? Rather odd, given the blighted dragon’s so-called powers did not protect the bookseller. You must understand how far-fetched this all seems.”
“I do understand,” Harrison said. “If I were you, I would share your skepticism. But the fact remains, whether or not you believe in the powers of the amulet—or its very existence, for that matter—someone is after that charm. Someone who believes very strongly in its powers. Someone who is driven to attain it by any means, and unfortunately, has reason to believe you know where it is.”
“And if I tell you I have no idea where the cursed thing is? Will you believe me?”
“Of course,” Harrison said. “That does not change the fact that you are in danger. Let us help you.”
“Am I to understand that your protection is contingent on my surrender of whatever it is you believe I have?”
Something that looked suspiciously like pain flashed in Gerard’s eyes. “Do ye believe me such a scoundrel that I’d abandon ye?”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
He stalked over to where she sat. Staring down at her, his eyes glimmered with the heat of emotion. “Believe this, lass. I care about ye. I will protect ye. But it’ll be a hell of a lot easier if we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Someone very dangerous may well know who you are. And where you are.” Harrison’s words were so rational and matter of fact, another chill coursed over her flesh. “If they are pursuing you, they will track you down wherever you go. It is not personal. To them, ye’re merely another task to be completed.”
“Why would a thief go to such lengths to find me?”
Gerard shook his head, his expression grim. “The woman ye saw is not a thief. She is a killer.”
“A killer?” Evelyn could not hold back the small gasp. “Dear God.”
“Her actions are not random. Nor reckless. She pursues her victims with a precise intention.” Harrison stretched out his long legs.
“So, I was right about that man in the shop. She had attacked him.”
“Aye. My partner and I felt it best that ye not know what ye’d stumbled upon…but now…ye need the truth. Ye can trust Harrison and me. We will defend ye against any threat.”
“But why…why would she come after me? I cannot even identify her. She must know I could not make out her features beneath that heavy veil.”
“The assassin leaves no witnesses,” Harrison explained. “It is indeed remarkable that you survived the encounter.”
Fear swept over her, nearly a tangible thing. Evelyn rubbed her hands over her arms, as if that might warm them. “If what you say is true, I cannot stay here. My very presence has put everyone at risk.” Emotion scalded her throat. “I could not forgive myself if something happened—I must return to London.”