Anne Stuart (36 page)

She looked him up and down, approval and irritation in her small, dark eyes. “Killoran, my boy,” she muttered, “I already have.”

Nathaniel’s mood was bordering on the celestial when he mounted the front steps to Killoran’s Curzon Street house two at a time. It came as a great shock to discover Killoran was up and about at the unheard of hour of 1 P.M. He appeared at the doorway of the library, dressed in traveling clothes of unrelieved black, his dark hair tied back in a queue, his eyes clear.

“
Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.

Nathaniel blinked. “I don’t believe that’s your particular concern.”

Killoran stared at him for a long moment. “She seduced you,” he said with an unpleasant twist to his mouth. “I’m surprised it took you so long to succumb. Tell me, did she put on an enjoyable performance?”

“
I don’t want to have to kill you,” Nathaniel said carefully. “But I will.”

“
You can certainly try. But you’ll have to forgo the pleasure for the time being. I have more important things to do at the moment.”

“
I forgot. Your race. It’s today, isn’t it?”

Killoran’s laugh was devoid of humor. “Is it? I’d forgotten as well.”

“
Killoran...”

“
Forbear to lecture me, dear boy, and I’ll grant you the same courtesy.” He tilted his head to one side, observing him. “Though I must confess you don’t seem like such a youth today. Lady Barbara’s had a salubrious effect on you. I’m surprised.”

“
Damn it, Killoran, keep your mouth off her!” Nathaniel said furiously. “You never wanted her.”

“
True enough. But I did enjoy watching your reaction to the notion,” he said smoothly. “Alas, I gamed away any claim to her favors. For once, my phenomenal luck at cards has finally deserted me.”

“
Has it?” Nathaniel murmured. “I wonder.”

“
Wonder what, dear boy?”

“
Wonder exactly what you were doing when you lost at cards last night.”

“
Nothing more than you did, Nathaniel, in the previous hand,” he replied with exquisite care.

The underlying truth hit Nathaniel like a blow in the stomach. He’d been manipulated by a master, made to betray his honor. “You Irish bastard,” he said bitterly.

“
You’re right about the Irish part. The bastard part is, in fact, not true. My parents were married in a Catholic church. Making me a worthless, disenfranchised papist. Not nearly good enough for the daughter of an earl. You two are well suited. You can save her, my little saint. Just don’t make the mistake of saving me.”

Nathaniel stared at him. “If you’d forgotten your race, why are you up so early?”

“
It seems that Emma has departed Lady Seldane’s without any warning. I must admit, I feel a certain… responsibility toward her, so I’m off to find her.”

“
But you can’t! I’ll go after her. She’s more likely to accept my aid than yours,” Nathaniel said.

“
So she is. Nevertheless, I find I’m not willing to give up this particular task. You might inform Sanderson that I’m planning to forfeit. He’ll see that word gets out.” He started toward the desk, a remote expression on his face.

“
My lord.” Jeffries appeared at the door, his usually urbane countenance troubled. “A note arrived for you.”

Killoran looked up. “I heard no one at the door, and my hearing is considered acute,” he drawled.

“
It arrived at the service door, my lord. A rather scruffy creature delivered it. Since it wasn’t sealed, I was bold enough to read it myself.”

“
Bold indeed, Jeffries,” Killoran conceded. “What is it, man? A dun? A death threat? Speak up.”

“
In a manner of speaking, my lord.” He handed the filthy piece of paper to Killoran. Nathaniel watched with interest as Killoran stared down at it, his face even more expressionless than usual. And then he crumpled the paper in his strong white fingers.

“
What is it, Killoran?”

Killoran paused for a moment, searching through the desk drawers with uncharacteristic haste. A moment later he pulled out a large, ivory-inlaid box.
“I
don’t think it’s your particular concern,” he murmured, opening the lid to reveal a matched set of pistols.

“
But you’re willing to forfeit the wager. What’s going on, Killoran?” Nathaniel demanded. “It can’t be a duel—you’d have more warning.”

“
Your final lesson in social etiquette, dear boy. A wager always takes precedence over a duel,” he said casually, checking the site of the pistol.

“
How can you simply forfeit, then? I heard the stakes were extremely high. What did you wager?”

“
Just the house. And fifty thousand pounds.”

“
Christ!”

“
Nathaniel, you shock me!” Killoran mocked. “I didn’t know you ever cursed.”

“
You don’t have that much money.”

“
Unlike you, dear boy, I don’t wager what I don’t have. I can pay my debts. I simply won’t have much left.”

“
Give me the note, Killoran. I’ll deal with whatever it concerns, and you can win your damned race...”

“
Trying to save me as well as all the other lost souls? You’re a veritable saint, Nathaniel. I, however, don’t wish to be saved. I sold my soul to the devil long ago, and I don’t give a damn about fortunes, or horse races, or this mausoleum of a house. Sorry, but you’ll have to confine your savior tactics to Barbara. I’m sure she’ll be far more appreciative.”

“
Damn it, Killoran, what’s in that note?”

Killoran’s eyes narrowed. “There is a limit to my forbearance, Nathaniel. I
will
kill you as well, if you continue to irritate me.”

“
Of course you will,” Nathaniel replied. “You don’t care about Emma; you wouldn’t think twice about killing me. You’re evil through and through. I’ll believe you. Thousands wouldn’t.”

“
Nathaniel,” Killoran said sweetly, heading for the door, “go back to Lady Barbara. Maybe if you apply yourself, you can teach her to enjoy what she pretends to crave.”

Nathaniel could feel the blush rise in his face, and it was enough to stop Killoran. He stared at him for a moment, his green eyes wide with surprise. “Don’t tell me you managed it?” he said.

“
I have no intention of discussing my future bride with you,” Nathaniel responded stiffly.

“
Has she agreed to that as well?”

“
She has.”

For the first time since Nathaniel had known him, Killoran grinned. “I underestimated you, my boy. Take good care of her. In case I don’t see you again.”

“
Killoran...”

But he was gone, the pistol tucked in the pocket of his black silk jacket, the door slamming shut behind him.

Chapter 20

It was the smell that first told Emma where she was. The odor of boiled cabbage, sunk deep into the walls, that crept into her barely conscious mind with a slow, sinking terror. She opened her eyes to the darkness, not moving. She lay on her stomach on a thin pallet, and there was nothing but chilly air all around her, and thick, smothering darkness. And the sudden, sure knowledge that she was back in Crouch End.

She struggled to sit up, but every bone, every muscle in her body cried out in pain. Her head felt thick and fuzzy, her stomach lurched suddenly, and she sank back down onto the hard floor, hugging herself. She had no idea why she was here, who had brought her back. Someone had come up behind her, shoved a foul-smelling rag over her face as she struggled, and then everything had descended into darkness.

She might not have known who had brought her here in the first place, but she knew who was behind it, and all her fear and doubts about her cousin had coalesced into an unthinking terror. Miriam was going to exact her stern punishment. And if the punishment for daydreaming had been harsh, the punishment for fornication and murder would be a great deal worse.

She moved more slowly this time, trying to keep her stomach from revolting, her head from spinning off her shoulders. Carefully she rose to her knees, peering through the darkness around her. She knew where she was. It had to be one of the empty bedrooms on the third floor, made for servants, but Miriam allowed no servants to stay, not even the faithful Gertie. Emma staggered to her feet, moving toward the door. To her astonishment it opened beneath her hand, and she stepped out into the deserted hallway, her heart pounding so loudly she thought surely Miriam could hear it.

She edged toward the stairs, going by instinct rather than by sight. The darkness was eerie, threatening. There were no lights in the house at all—it was as still and quiet as death.

Emma slipped off her shoes. Over the years she had learned to move silently through this house, and she needed that silence now more than ever. She descended the narrow flights of stairs and stopped at the bottom, suddenly afraid. There was death in the air, death and disaster, and she wanted to turn and run, as far and as fast as she could. She knew this house well, better even than Cousin Miriam did. She could find a place to hide until the light that filtered into the old house grew marginally brighter. She had no idea what time of day it was—early evening, midnight, or close to dawn. She wasn’t even certain which day it was, or how long she had lain in that upstairs bedroom in a drugged stupor.

She only knew that sooner or later it would have to grow lighter. If she just found a place to hide, she’d be safe. She needed time to get her bearings, to get her stomach back in reasonable shape.

The door to Miriam’s sitting room was open, and the hallway was cold and dark. She could just picture her cousin sitting there, dark and -malevolent, waiting for her, as she had over the years. Ready to force her to her knees, to confess sins that never existed.

Emma had lived through that too many times. She wouldn’t do it again. Not when her sins were real now, and not regretted. She wasn’t going anywhere near that room. She turned, ready to run, and heard a faint, piteous moan.

She wasn’t a coward. She walked forward, into the darkened interior on silent, unerring feet, her eyes growing accustomed to the faint light. A fire spread a specious warmth through the room, illuminating the huddled shape of a woman lying on the floor.

“
Gertie!” Emma cried, forgetting her caution and rushing to the woman’s side. She lay in a pool of blood. She was alive, and conscious, but just barely, and her eyes were glazed with pain. Her clothes were torn, her skirts rucked up around her sturdy legs, and Emma stared down at her in horror, at the swollen, distorted mouth and bruised face.

Gertie whispered something, but Emma couldn’t understand her. She sank to her knees beside the woman, grasping her cold hand, and leaned closer. “Who did this, Gertie? Who hurt you? Where is Cousin Miriam?”

Gertie’s mouth struggled to shape a word. “Run,” she finally managed to whisper. “Get out of here, miss. Before they hurt...”

A light blazed in the room as someone struck a tinder, and Gertie sank into silence, perhaps an eternal one. Her insides like ice, Emma looked up toward the light.

She hadn’t seen her cousin Miriam in more than two months. In that time she’d almost forgotten the woman’s power. She sat in a straight-backed chair, her stern, colorless face composed in lines of judgment and hatred, and her drab clothes covered a body that was thin and strong and hurtful. She folded her hands in her lap, and Emma could see blood on them.

“
Miriam,” she whispered, trying to quell the sudden onrush of fear.

“
So kind of you to return to your home,” Miriam said in a cool, monotonous voice.
“I
wondered if you would ever be willing to face your judgment.”

Judgment, Emma thought with renewed horror. She knew all too well what Miriam’s judgment could constitute. “What have you done to Gertie?”

“
She’s sinned,” Miriam said calmly. “She needed to be punished. Fornication is a crime, and she is ungodly. She sought wicked congress, and has paid the price.”

“
What are you talking about? Gertie is as good and kind a woman as ever lived!”

“
She was going to interfere. She told me I was mad. That she wouldn’t stand by and let me hurt you. As if I’d hurt you,” Miriam said with a faint sniff, her pale eyes alight with a fevered glint. “She confused justice with cruelty. I had no choice. She needed to be punished. As do you. We intend to see to it, you know. It’s for the best—a pure death is far preferable to a life of sin. It won’t be easy, though. Pain and suffering are needed to wash your soul clean.”

Emma sat back on her heels, fighting down the panic. Gertie lay still, her breathing shallow and labored. “There’s no need to kill me, Miriam. I left. I’ve given up all claim to the money. You can have it all—I don’t want it. You can just forget about me.”

“
I can’t do that,” Miriam said. “Nor do I want to.
He
wants to keep you alive. He wants to make sport of you as he did with that slut there, but I shan’t let him. You’d take pleasure from it, I know your wicked soul. He shan’t have you. No one will.”

“
Who, Miriam? Who shan’t have me?”

“
I believe she must be referring to me.”

The drawling lisp came from directly over her head, and Emma froze. She had almost forgotten the man’s existence. She turned and looked up into the puce-clothed dandy’s glittering eyes, and she knew who had brought her back to this place.

“
Lord Darnley,” she whispered.

“
None other,” he said, stepping over Gertie’s body without a glance. “Your cousin and I have been unlikely confederates. I do believe that that connection has now served its usefulness.” He glanced at Miriam’s stony face. “I don’t want her dead,” he said pleasantly. “At least not until I’ve had my fill of her.”