Chapter 18
The hell if they weren’t married, Jeremy wanted to say. But now wasn’t the time to admit such a thing. First, he wanted Viper revealed and the whole damn Nest, including Montague, dealt with. Then he would have a serious discussion with his feisty, but very real, wife. It took all his willpower not to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. That would only lead them to the bed, and he wouldn’t hurt her in such a way.
He had to keep his lips firmly together, though, and resist touching her. Just thinking about how she had pleased the hell out of him made him itch to scoop her up into his arms and kiss her breathless. Not in his most erotic dreams had he considered he’d want a wife more than a mistress. Hell, a hundred mistresses. He honestly didn’t think he’d even want to look at another woman ever again.
This obsession she had about being a Guardian worried him, though. He would just have to convince her the life she wanted was with him, not with Belle in France on dangerous missions.
“I will see you safe, Evie,” he said softly. “Remember Giselle?”
She grimaced, but shook her head at the same time. “I am not Giselle. You must stop making decisions on my behalf, especially ones I do not agree with.” Her gaze slid away. “Once this mission is done, we will return to our separate lives.”
The hell they would. Jeremy crossed his arms, wondering what to do to convince her she didn’t want to be anywhere else but with him. He never before had such a problem. Women fell at his feet and fought for his attention. On any given day, he could convince any lady he chose to do anything he wanted. There were hundreds who would die to be in Evie’s shoes right now.
Only he didn’t want any one of them. He just wanted the stubborn, obstinate beauty in front of him.
Taking a slow, calming breath, Jeremy let his arms fall to his sides. He would have to convince his lovely little bird she didn’t want to live separately. There was a time not long ago she felt that way. She had loved him, deeply. His insides churned at the thought, knowing he had lost so much time. If he hadn’t been involved with the Guardians. If his father hadn’t died with a Viper ring clutched in his fist. If he was simply the Marquess of Fielding, he would have spent more time with Evie and married her long ago.
Now, somehow, he had to convince her to set loose those feelings she was trying to bury. Her feelings for him were still there, all right. The way she responded to his touch provided plenty of proof. But he wanted more. He wanted all of her, body and soul.
He would just have to be patient. Surely, she would come around soon. His eyes darted to the bed and he felt the grin slide across his lips. In some very pleasurable ways, he planned to convince her she wanted to remain with him. He bit back the smile. Her body’s response to his touch told him a great deal. It told him how to get what he wanted.
A knock sounded and his head came up. Frowning at the door, he called to enter, wondering who would dare disturb him alone with his wife. Amelia surprised him when she came into the room. Holding her large black bag, her eyes drooping with fatigue, she cleared her throat. “Forgive the intrusion. Lady Montague’s footman arrived to summon me back. Something is terribly wrong.” She shifted her bag to the other hand. “I thought you would want to know.”
Jeremy inclined his head, his heart sinking at the news. His sister was selfish and temperamental, but she was family nonetheless, and he didn’t wish her any ill fortune. “Shall I ride with you?”
“Please do.” She started to turn, but hesitated. “I should send a note to Julian.”
Seeing Bentley hovering near the door, waiting instruction, Jeremy nodded to the man.
“I shall see to it straightway, my lord,” Bentley replied with a bow and disappeared from the doorway.
“I will join you,” Evie said and started for the door.
Jeremy stopped her with a hand on her arm. “No, pet. You are still recovering from that horrible bottle-ache. It will be better for you to remain here.” Then he leaned down and pretended to kiss her cheek. “Montague is still out there,” he whispered in her ear, then straightened with a warning in his eyes.
Evie drew in a sharp breath and he knew he had unsettled her. Yet, he didn’t want her going anywhere until Montague had been located and dealt with. That bastard would not get a second chance at taking Evie.
Slowly, she leaned back, her eyes wide. “Pray, let your sister know I am thinking of her.”
Jeremy inclined his head, then turned and left with Amelia. When they reached his sister’s home, he found his mother pacing near the stairway. She glanced up, her bleary eyes relieved. “The pains have come back. I-I didn’t know what else to do.”
Amelia rushed forward and half way up the stairs must have realized Jeremy held her bag. “Bring that up here, if you please.”
He drew his brows, but did as instructed. Truly, he did not wish to be anywhere near a childbed. But Amelia could move much more quickly than he thought, even exhausted as she was, and he didn’t catch up to her until she had already dashed into his sister’s room.
Hesitating in the doorway, he shuffled the bag from one hand to the other, wondering how the tiny Amelia could handle such a heavy object. Then he heard his sister cry out and he rushed forward.
Amelia was washing her hands in the bowl and nodded to the foot of the bed. “Please set my bag down there. Thank you.”
Jeremy did as instructed, his eyes trying not to stray to Phyllis’s pale, twisted face and the way she gripped the sheets with both hands. He backed up a step and started to turn around when his sister called out to him.
With his heart heavy, he came to her side and scooped up one of her icy hands. “There, now, princess. Amelia is here to make it better.”
A painful whimper spilled out of her mouth and she moved her head from side to side. Her blonde hair was drenched and stuck to her sweaty neck and forehead. “I don’t know if I will survive this, Jeremy.”
He leaned over and moved a lock of damp hair out of her eyes. “Of course, you will. Do not say such things.”
She gritted her teeth and gripped his hand tight, then panted several times. “I wish my husband were here.”
Jeremy patted her hand, then an idea struck. He hated to ask, but did not wish the opportunity to pass by. “Why don’t you tell me where he is and I will deliver a message?”
“I’ve already sent messages to his estate.” She stopped to let out a long moan. “He hasn’t answered.”
“All right, Jeremy, let me see how she is doing.” Amelia nodded toward the door. “I will let you know what I find.”
With one last pat on his sister’s hand, Jeremy turned and walked out of the room. He found his mother in the antechamber, pacing, sloshing her gin over the rim and onto the Axminster carpet. She stopped and rushed forward. “How is she?”
His mother could not take bad news. Never could. She would find the nearest gin decanter and try and drink her troubles away. As time went on, even minor irritations brought on days of mindless drunken spells. So, he was not surprised to find her barely able to stand upright. “I believe she is having labor pains.”
“Oh, no.” His mother downed the rest of her drink. “It is too soon. Poor Phyllis. She and Lord Montague will be devastated if the child dies.”
He pursed his lips. “Has he sent word? Do you know where he is?”
She lifted the glass to her lips but frowned down at the empty contents. “No, he hasn’t sent word.” Then she squinted up at him. “He isn’t at his estate. My footman returned from there just before you arrived and told me he wasn’t there. He told me the estate had some minor fire so Lord Montague must have left.” She glanced around until she found the bell-pull. “Three nights ago, I thought I saw him going into his rouge et noir in Pall Mall.”
His brows shot up. “The Leviathan?”
She nodded and pressed her glass into the servant’s hands when her summons had been answered. “Yes.” Then she smiled. “Perhaps I wasn’t seeing things, after all.”
Jeremy pursed his lips at this information. He didn’t like Montague going unnoticed by all the people he had hired to watch out for the man, especially at the man’s own gambling hell. Scout would have certainly alerted him. Most disconcerting, though, was the possibility the man was so close to Evie.
He eyed his mother taking a long pull from her fresh drink and let out a slow breath. It was entirely possible for the woman to have been deep into her cups and merely think she saw Montague. He rubbed his chin, knowing he would have to know for certain. Where Evie’s safety was concerned, he would not take any chances.
Coming to a quick decision, he glanced at the bedroom door and back. “There is something I must take care of, Mother.”
She lowered her drink, her brows puckering over unfocused eyes. “You can’t leave now. What about Phyllis?”
“I won’t be long,” he said, turning toward the door and marching from the room before she could make further objections.
The sky had become crowded with puffy gray clouds, promising a miserable afternoon when Jeremy stepped outside. He pulled up his collar as the wind picked up, bending several stems of the white rosebush near the front door. He shook his head at Amelia’s footman and hailed a passing hack. If she needed to leave before his return, he did not wish to take her carriage.
After a quick stop at his town house to retrieve a good amount of blunt, he hurried back to the waiting hack before Evie could see him. She would certainly ask many questions, delay him further, then demand to go along. He settled back into the coach. “The Leviathan,” he told the driver and they set off at a brisk pace.
As he neared the building, he glanced toward the front door and found it open just a crack. Good, he thought, exiting the coach. The establishment was open for business.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a coin and held it up so the driver could see the gold. The man pushed back his derby hat, his eyes going wide.
“There will be another one of these for you if I find you here waiting when I return shortly.”
Jeremy tossed the coin into the air and the man snatched it up with dirty fingers protruding out of several holes of the filthy knitted gloves he wore. “Right ye are, milord,” the driver said and readjusted his hat.
Eyeing the establishment, Jeremy glanced down at the line of similar buildings, most of them residences of solicitors and businessmen. He had visited The Leviathan on several occasions in the past, mostly for Guardian business, and kept his winnings to a minimum. In fact, he had even lost several thousand pounds to keep above suspicion. After entering through the front door, he came to small entry and stepped up to the next door, where knew someone watched through the spyhole. As he suspected, the bolt was thrown and the door opened.
With a nod at the frowning man, who had a scar running diagonal over each cheek, he entered the room and glanced around at the dim interior. The scar faced man locked the door then took him up the stairs where the gambling would be in full swing.
The door at the top of the stairs was solid iron and after the small flap just above eye level slid shut, the door creaked open, spilling light into the dim hall. With a nod at the two watchers, Jeremy stepped into a great room that glittered with opulence. Chandeliers dripped with crystals and long-tapered candles. Mirrors along the walls were wrapped in thick gilt frames and in the room’s center held the green-topped oblong table with one elderly baron, a pink, two young gentlemen already deep in their cups, and a sharp-eyed lady with gray sausage curls and pinched lips. He narrowed his eyes when he recognized one of the young fellows. Harold Taskers eldest son.
Glancing around, he saw no signs of Montague. However, at the back of the room, just before a closed door, stood two men speaking. He narrowed his eyes, thinking the dark haired one on the left resembled one of the men who chased Evie after she had escaped Montague.
A tray was lowered before him with a mixture of wines, brandy, cognac, and whiskey. He hefted a whiskey from the tray and sat between the elderly baron and the dealer.
“Ah, Lord Fielding,” the baron said pulling at the corner of his long, white mustache. “I thought you had suffered some severe injury.” His busy white brows shot up. “Have you recovered?”
Jeremy shook his head. “Was my cousin in my carriage. I had just left for Windemere and didn’t learn of it for a while.” That had been the story he’d been telling everyone. The story he wanted getting back to Montague.
The pink lifted his wine glass. “I heard congratulations are in order, my lord, on your marriage.”
The lady nodded, her sausage curls bouncing around on her forehead. “That is all anyone speaks about, Lord Fielding,” she said, obviously hoping he would give her some new on dit to take back to her own drawing room.
The baron kept him from replying to the lady. “You are just in time for Vingt-Et-Un.”
With nod, he glanced around the table to see which punter had the upper hand. The lady and the pink had the largest stacks and the two drunk pigeons had very little. He sipped his whiskey and fell right into the game, throwing a hundred pounds onto the stack when the ten of hearts stared up at him. The lady and the young fellow cried off, but Taskers’ son, the baron, and the pink pressed on. As the cards went around, he knew he’d win, but resisted adding too much to the growing pile.
The baron and the pink went bust, but young Taskers peeled with laughter after scoring a nineteen. Jeremy, holding a ten, a three and an ace, shrugged but added more money to the center. The dealer went four points over, so the next card would decide the game. If he had counted correctly, the next card would be…
The six of diamonds.
Young Taskers stopped snickering, leaned forward, and made a choking sound in his throat. Jeremy almost felt sorry for the little pup. Almost. Not only was the boy’s father involved in Viper’s Nest, but Jeremy recalled what the fellow did to Evie at last year’s Huntington masque.
Evie had just reached for a glass of lemonade when the young Taskers pretended to fumble his port all over the front of her pale-yellow dress. While she stood there with her arms out in shock, the little fool threw his head back and laughed all the way to a group of ruffians, sneering and pointing a few feet away.
Jeremy had wanted to march up to that little idiot and knock several teeth out. It took all of his willpower to turn away and pretend he saw nothing. But he never forgot. And now, Jeremy would get even. But he’d do it subtly.
By the time Taskers had gone through all his money and started to bet money he didn’t have, money his father would have to cover, Jeremy relaxed his tense shoulders. They had even changed to playing Speculation, which was no better for poor Taskers. After raking in another large pile, Jeremy leaned over to the baron. “Have you seen Lord Montague? I would like to speak to him.”
The baron threw in some notes and shook his head. “I think he traveled to his estate.”
Jeremy drew in a breath of relief and picked up his cards.
“I saw him here yesterday, my lord,” the lady said, frowning down at what she had been dealt.
He forced himself not to react. Jeremy pretended to study his cards, to ponder what to do next, while his mind raced with the news. No one had warned him Montague was back in London. Why hadn’t Scout said something. He drummed his fingers against the soft green material. Surely the best tracker in England hadn’t been led somewhere else. He needed to tell Elder what was going on and they needed to find Montague. Now. Before the bastard had the chance to hurt Evie.
Losing seven hundred pounds to the lady on purpose, Jeremy checked his watched and explained he needed to get going. He pocketed the thirty-four-hundred-pound winnings, all Tasker’s losses, and walked out into the drizzling rain, glad to see the hack still waiting.
After stopping at several different locations to make sure he wasn’t being followed, Jeremy finally said, “Bedford Square.” Once they reached the museum, he promised yet another gold coin to wait, then dashed in between the tall columns and into the building.