Beguiled (32 page)

The cook waved the guinea. “For this, I'd deny seeing the Second Coming.”

Agnes climbed the worn stairs. At the top she spied three doors and headed for the last one. Sunlight streamed through a window at the end of the hall, and wagons rumbled on the street below. Crouching, she peered through the keyhole.

The Rook slept on a bed against the wall, but in her narrow line of sight she could only see him from the chest down. The crossbow rested atop a table in the center of the room—blessedly out of easy reach. The remaining quarrel, its distinctive fletchings pale against the dark wood, lay nearby. A pair of knives was also visible on the table. His empty hands were folded over his belly.

She found him surprisingly small in stature, his feet almost an arm's length from the end of the bed. She thought of Edward, so tall his feet lapped over the cot. She remembered his powerful legs, the strength in his loins. Warmth crept up her neck, and her vision drifted out of focus.

Somewhere below, a door slammed, and someone yelled a greeting.

Troubled by distracting thoughts of Edward Napier, Agnes put him from her mind and oiled the iron hinges.

Taking a moment, she closed her mind to everything save the harmony. Like a rainbow of thought, it embraced her, and as she relaxed, she breathed deeply. Choosing the proper pick from inside her vest, she went to work on the lock. As it sprung, the lever made a dull thud. Quickly, she looked again through the keyhole. His chest rose and fell, but other than that, he had not moved.

But she did. Easing open the door, she slipped inside and hurried to the bed. In a movement she'd practiced thousands of times, she unsheathed the deadly blade. Then she pressed it to his neck.

His eyes flew open.

“Move and you're dead.”

He had not moved. Blue-eyed and fair, he wore his hair close-cropped, and his complexion was pitted and dirty. He'd shaved off the beard he'd worn in Edinburgh.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked.

“Ya.”

The Dutchman. She could smell his fear. “Who was the nanny?”

“Mrs. Borrowfield?” His speech was flavored with the guttural tones of his homeland.

“Aye, the woman who fled the church in Edinburgh.”

“Hired out of London to report on the earl's progress on the engine.”

“Hired by whom?”

His throat worked, and he swallowed loudly.

Agnes put gentle pressure on the knife. “You've begun to bleed, Rook.”

“Throckmorton. Same as hired me.”

“You did not kill the guard that night at the fountain at Napier House.”

He shook his head, but winced when the knife cut deeper. “The inventor is my mark. Please do not kill, _ j) me.

A fortnight ago she wouldn't have thought twice about slitting this villain's throat. But she couldn't summon the old ruthlessness. She knew the reason, a brilliant earl with magical hands and a heart-stealing smile.

“I beg of you,” said the Rook. “I haff a family.”

Agnes cast off thoughts of Edward Napier. “What were you looking for?”

“I am not a thief.”

“But you wanted something from Napier House.”

“Machine and its plans.”

“Both are lost to you, as is your life.”

He beseeched her with his eyes. “Please.”

“Why did you slaughter doves and leave them at Napier House?”

“To frighten you.”

The birds had not been chosen for any particular reason, except that they were convenient. “Should you move more than an eyelash, I'll put this knife through your jugular.”

His fearful expression eased. “If you do, I will put mine through your belly.”

She glanced down and her breath caught. He held a knife to her abdomen. The blade pierced her vest.

Damn! When had he pulled that blade and from where?

Keeping her knife taut to his neck, Agnes stepped an arm's length back. In a blur of movement he pushed her out of the way and dashed for the window. Before she could cock her arm, he disappeared through the opening.

Shaken, she wilted on the bed. Trimble had warned her of the Rook's skill with knives. He'd had three—two on the table and one on his person. With an unsteady hand, she touched the puncture in her leather vest. A vision of the blade, jagged teeth on one edge, sent tremors of fear through her.

She took the remaining quarrel and went to Trimble's office to await the return of the thief sent to Throckmorton's rooms.

“I trust the Rook won't trouble us again,” Trimble said.

Agnes told him what had occurred at the Drygate Inn.

“Didn't I say that he was skilled with a knife?”

“Aye, you did, but I forgot.”

“How could you overlook that?” he demanded, his tone angry with concern, his face flushed with anger. “Have you lost your wits?”

In some respects she had. “I suffered a moment's preoccupation.”

An hour later Trimble's man delivered a sheaf of papers. Among them were letters from Mrs. Borrowfield to Throckmorton, confirming the plot against Edward. In the hands of the magistrate, the writings were the proof needed to bring Throckmorton to justice.

“ 'Tis almost done,” Trimble said. “Where will you go when it's over? What will you do?”

Agnes didn't know. She felt empty inside at the thought of leaving Napier House. “I'm not sure, but I'll let you know.”

“Why not come with me to Maryland? Several families who lost sons in the Colonial wars have engaged me to search for their young men.”

Unwilling to share her true feelings, she shrugged. “A long ocean voyage holds no interest to me, Trimble. But I thank you.”

“Then at least stay in Glasgow for a bit. That viscount has roses yet to pluck for you.”

His attempt at humor warmed her a little. “Mary's here, and she needs me. I'm not sure where we'll go.”

Trimble's kind features grew strained, and he touched her arm. “If I can help . . .”

Agnes put on a smile that she did not feel. “You can help. Find Virginia.”

He smiled too. “We will. She cannot have vanished off the face of the earth.”

Agnes knew it was true. Virginia was too bright, too plucky, even as a child. Agnes had been her mentor; she'd know if Virginia were dead. From a sailmaker Agnes had learned that a girl matching Virginia's description, albeit wearing boy's clothing, had boarded a ship that day. But Virginia had been wearing a new dress. When they'd found no trace of her a week later, Agnes had returned to the docks. Through the harbormaster she gleaned the names of every vessel that had been in port that day and their destinations. But crews and captains changed, and not all were honest in their manifests.

Finding Trimble had given Agnes new hope.

“Someone has knowledge of her,” Trimble said. “We'll find the lass.”

Agnes rose. “I'm certain of it.”

Trimble walked her to the door. “Do not let down your guard again, Golden One.”

“I will not. You can be sure of that.”

“Promise me you'll tell Napier that the bowman remains on the loose.”

With three knives, she reminded herself. “I'll consider it.”

*  *  *

Agnes returned to Napier House. Boswell greeted her, saying that Auntie Loo was in the music room with the children and had asked for Agnes.

Hannah played on the floor with her new blocks. Christopher made war with his soldiers.

Taking Auntie Loo aside, Agnes told her what had transpired.

“Death's door is still closed to you.”

But Agnes had peeked inside the room of death, and she remembered vividly the sight of that knife pressed against her. “If it's all the same to God, I'd rather not chance it again.”

“I pray you do not, Agnes.”

“I have the proof. Edward can take it to Constable Sir Jenkins.”

“Lot of good that one's been.”

“Let's hope he's better at bringing criminals to justice than he is at finding them.”

*  *  *

Agnes found Edward and Mary in the Elizabethan room. Cameron had returned to his ship but was expected to join them for the evening meal.

A refreshed Mary was admiring the illuminated manuscripts.

“Will you excuse us?” Agnes said to her sister.

“Nay, Lady Mary,” said Edward. “Stay. Your sister does her best work with an audience.”

Mary glanced sharply at Edward. Picking up the ancient book, she approached him. “I may not have Agnes's skill with weapons, my lord, but I will defend her with my life, so have a care with what you say.”

He looked from Mary to Agnes. “MacKenzie loyalty, I presume?”

“You are bright,” Mary said much too cheerfully.

When they were alone, Agnes handed him the last of the five quarrels and the documents. “The constable can make good use of these.”

He scanned the papers. “It was Throckmorton.”

“Aye, he wanted to prevent you from perfecting your machine.”

“But it doesn't work.”

“He knows it will.”

Putting the papers into his desk, he moved absently about the room. “You found the Rook?”

He needn't know that she'd held a knife to the man's throat or that her own life had been threatened. “Trimble found him and the letters.”

“Good. I feared that you would go after him yourself.”

He could have been discussing yesterday's rain, so detached did he seem. A part of Agnes wanted their former closeness, but with that intimacy came commitment, and she had already pledged her life elsewhere. The memory of their intimacy wouldn't leave her alone. If she looked at his hands, she recalled the tenderness of his touch. A glimpse of his mouth reminded her of the feel of his lips on hers. A stolen glance at his loins brought to mind his complete possession and the oneness they'd shared.

Regret thickened her throat. “I'm sorry about what happened between us last night.”

He busied himself moving the standing mirror from the hearth to a spot by the door that led into the tower. “Didn't your mother ever tell you that a lady never apologizes for being attracted to a man?”

She'd said similar words to him after that first kiss in Whitburn. She wanted to say that she was more than attracted to him. Instead, she said, “Aye, but my mother never met a man like you.”

Much too casually he said, “I suppose she didn't; her lovers were dukes.”

He was speaking of her mother's affair with Lachlan MacKenzie and her later marriage to the duke of Enderley. No reply came to mind.

Edward adjusted the mirror. Their eyes met in the glass. “I am but an earl.”

She could see his heartache, and heaven help her, she wanted to ease it, but she could not. “I was not referring to your position in nobility, and I am not my mother.”

“No.” He turned the mirror. “You're very much like your father. Even Lady Mary says so.”

Reflected in the glass was the door leading to the new wing. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That you do not take romantic entanglements seriously. With that in mind, I wonder if I imagined your maidenhead.”

She deserved his anger. She had to bite her lip to keep from confessing her love. “I told you at the start that I would not—”

“Fall in love with me?” he challenged. “Oh, do not think I harbor any hope of you loving me.”

“Even if I did—”

“Do you?” His voice cracked like a whip.

She winced. “Aye, but I cannot forsake Virginia.”

Softly, he said, “Have I asked that of you?”

“Nay, but word will come, I know it in my soul, and when that moment arrives, I must be free to go after her.” Choking back tears, she turned to face him. “But my loyalty will not end when she is returned. What if she has suffered during the separation? There could be adjustments, reunions. 'Tis a part of God's purpose for me.”

Nodding, he strolled toward her. “I will not argue that.”

She'd ended romantic entanglements before without remorse, but her heart had not been engaged. Her convictions were strong, but for the first time, she felt torn. She loved Edward Napier, and there was nothing to be done about it. Family came first. “Then, you understand?”

He cradled her face in his hands and lifted her chin. When their eyes met, he said, “I understand. But please consider this. God has given you a worthy cause, but not at the expense of your own happiness.” Never before had anyone delved so deeply into the events that ruled her life. Never before had the touch of a hand moved her to tears. “Finding Virginia is my happiness.”

His smile was sad, bittersweet, and with his thumbs, he dashed her tears. “God is not as selfish as that. I believe that he has given you to me, for I cannot imagine another sunrise without you beside me.”

Pain squeezed her heart and forced her to beg. “Please let me go.”

“And lose what we feel for each other? Oh, nay. Let me help you find Virginia.”

She searched his face, looked deeply into his eyes for any sign of artifice. The kindness and sincerity she discovered brought lightness to her soul. “Do you believe she is alive?”

“I believe what you believe, my love.” He hugged her fiercely. “If you say you think Virginia is in Edinburgh, I shall beat a path to the stables and ready the carriage myself.”

“You would do that?”

“I would do that and more. Should you suspect that your sister is in New Holland, I shall book our passage to Botany Bay tomorrow.”

Our passage.
Others had supported Agnes's cause, but none, save Cameron, had truly shared in the search or experienced the cruelty of the disappointments. A new kind of hope blossomed inside her. “But what about Christopher and Hannah? You cannot abandon them.”

“Nor will
we
,” he insisted. “We shall take them along or leave them in the care of your kinswomen.”

Hope sprang to life within her. “Not Juliet, lest my father spoil them.”