Dance of Seduction (42 page)

He let out an oath. “But I wanted to believe him, because if a villain like him could have a woman like you, then it meant I had a chance with Lucy—” He broke off, jerking his head toward the chair she’d left only moments before. “Take a seat, Lady Clara. It’s time you and I had a long and truthful chat about your friend Morgan Pryce.”

She edged toward the chair, her eyes never leaving the muzzle of his pistol. “Yes, let’s talk about him. You were right—we’re lovers. And if you shoot me, he’ll come after you.”

Fitch laughed. “How can he when he doesn’t even know who I really am?” His eyes grew cold. “Or does he?”

“He might. He’s a very clever man. Besides, even if he doesn’t, Lucy will tell him that she left me here with you—”

“Lucy will say nothing.” A muscle flicked in his jaw as he stepped nearer. “Not if she wants to keep her precious brothers out of jail. I’ll simply tell her that you were fine when you left me. Everyone knows it’s dangerous for a woman to wander London alone unaccompanied, so when you end up dead in the river no one will be entirely surprised, given your reckless behavior.”

She swallowed, her eyes fixed on the ugly muzzle. She was going to die, and nobody would ever know what had really happened. Panic swelled in her chest, but she fought it off. She had to keep calm. She had to keep him talking until she could figure a way out of this.

“Morgan and I were to meet at his shop tonight,” she said, “so he’ll know something is wrong when I don’t show up.”

“Don’t lie to me—you do it badly. He didn’t set up any assignation with you. I know that, because he set one up with the Specter.” A frown darkened his face. “Him and Ravenswood. The minute I saw that devil from the Home Office sniffing about, I knew something was wrong. But I never expected them to be so clever. Not after that Jenkins fellow—” He glared at her. “Never mind all that. It’s just as well that you realized who I am. Now we can stop playing games and get straight to the point. Tell me how much they know, how much they’ve figured out.”

“Why should I when you’re planning to kill me anyway?” she whispered.

“Ah, but there’s more than one way to die, isn’t there? If you tell me what you know, I’ll make sure your death is quick and painless. If not, it’s going to be a very long night for you.”

He sidled around behind the chair and pressed the muzzle to her temple, then ran it slowly down her cheek. “Didn’t your lover tell you? I’m known for my ruthlessness. I’ll happily take my time about killing you, if I must.”

He ran the muzzle of the gun around her ear in a grotesque parody of a caress, and she shivered.

He gave a low, evil chuckle. “Did you know that the human body can endure a great deal of pain before it shuts down? One shot can shatter your knee, yet you can live quite a long time suffering the agony of it. Not to mention how long you will suffer if I choose to shoot you in the belly—”

“Torturing me won’t do you any good. I don’t know anything.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do. A strutting cock like Pryce would never resist boasting of how he planned to rid Spitalfields of the Specter.”

“He didn’t tell me anything, I swear!” she protested.

“We’ll see if you still say that after I put a bullet through your leg,” he rasped, and she heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked.

Then a new voice sounded from the doorway. “She’s telling the truth, Fitch. She doesn’t know anything, so you might as well let her go. Because we both know it’s me you really want.”

Chapter 24

Jack donn’d his invisible coat,
Sharp sword and swift shoes for the fray;
He rescued the knight and the fair,
And great mighty giant did slay.
“
The History of Jack the Giant-Killer
,”
edition by J. G. Rusher, Anonymous

M
organ hadn’t known true terror until he stepped into Fitch’s parlor to see the woman he loved being menaced by the devil himself. Only by sheer will did he keep his own pistol steady on Fitch. Because the rest of him shook violently at the fear that one misstep would make Fitch fire.

Clara smiled weakly when she saw him. “It’s about time you got here.”

Her face had never looked so pale, her eyes so wide and frightened, but the mutinous set to her shoulders told him he could at least count on her not to fall apart.

“I would have come sooner if you’d left word where you
were going,” he retorted. And he would have waited in the hall until Fitch had moved the gun away from her if he hadn’t heard it being cocked and known he had no choice but to step in.

“If I’d realized Mr. Fitch was such a dangerous man—” she began.

“Silence, both of you!” Fitch’s face contorted with rage as he shoved the muzzle against her temple. “You stay back, Pryce, or I swear she’s dead.”

The terror seeped into Morgan’s bones. “Let’s not do anything hasty now,” he said, though he kept his pistol leveled at Fitch’s head. “If you don’t add murder to your crimes, you might yet escape death.”

“Hopkins!” Fitch called out. “Get in here, damn you!”

Morgan inched further into the room. “If it’s the footman you’re calling, there’s no point. I knocked him unconscious when he tried to block my entry into your house.”

“A pox on you!” Fitch growled. “I thought you and Ravenswood would stay at the shop a while longer. And how did you know to come here, anyway?”

“Lucy told me.” Thank God the girl had been climbing out of a hack at the tavern with Johnny when Morgan had arrived there. “I don’t think she likes you much anymore.”

Surprisingly, Fitch winced before setting his mouth in a grim line. “She’ll come round. When I show her what I can buy her with my hidden fortune, she’ll do whatever I tell her. We’ll flee England together.”

“You’re mad if you think I’ll let you leave this house.” Morgan edged further into the room, his blood pounding in his veins. “Even now Lord Ravenswood is on his way here with dozens of men to take you.”

“You’re bluffing!” Fitch cried.

Morgan certainly hoped he wasn’t. He hadn’t waited for Ravenswood or his brother—he’d sent Lucy to the Home to
guide them here once they showed up. But judging from Lucy’s outrage at the very idea that Fitch might hurt Clara, Morgan figured he could trust Lucy to do her part.

“You know me well enough to know I wouldn’t come unprepared,” Morgan said. “So you might as well put down the gun. Once the rest of them arrive, it’s all over for you.”

“I’m not waiting around for your friends, Pryce.” Keeping the pistol aimed on Clara, Fitch hauled her to a stand with his free hand. “And Lady Clara is coming with me to make sure none of you follow.” He dragged her back with him toward the other door to the parlor. “Don’t try to come after me or she’s dead.”

Morgan forced himself to focus, not to let the fear overtake him. The thought of losing her…

No, he wouldn’t. “I’m not letting you take her out of here.” Morgan advanced further into the room. “So you can just forget it.”

“You can’t stop me,” Fitch retorted as he forced Clara back toward the door.

Suddenly, a figure appeared behind Fitch in the doorway. Morgan struggled not to show his surprise to Fitch, but what the devil was Samuel doing here? Lucy had said he’d gone missing.

Behind Fitch, Samuel put a finger to his mouth and displayed the knife he held in his other hand, as if asking for direction. With a quick shake of his head, Morgan warned the man to hold off. Fitch’s pistol was too close to Clara’s head, and there was too much chance it could go off if Samuel attacked.

So Morgan had to convince Fitch to move the confounded thing. “Listen, Fitch,” Morgan said as he lowered the muzzle of his own gun slowly toward the floor. “There’s no reason to take Clara. I’m the one who ruined your plans. Take me instead.”

Clara frowned, but she seemed to understand what he was attempting to do. “Lucy will never flee with you if you kill me,” she told Fitch. “She’s much too tenderhearted to love a killer.”

“She’ll do as she’s told,” Fitch bit out, but the pistol wavered at Clara’s temple.

Morgan picked up on Clara’s cue. “But why risk her anger? She won’t care if you kill
me
. She doesn’t even
like
me.” Stepping over to a nearby table, he set his pistol on it. “See? I’m putting this down. You know you don’t want to hurt Clara. I’m a son-of-a-bitch, but she’s an angel, and those children depend on her. She’s an innocent, like your sweet little Lucy. She doesn’t deserve to die.”

Fitch released his grip on Clara. “You’re right…you should be the one…”

As Fitch’s gun veered toward him, Morgan cried, “Now, Samuel!”

But Clara, who couldn’t have known Samuel was behind her, had already grabbed for Fitch’s pistol hand and was forcing it toward the floor. As Morgan lunged for his own pistol, Fitch’s went off.

Morgan’s heart leaped into his throat. “Clara!” he cried as he snatched up his pistol and vaulted across the room.

But Clara was fine, standing frozen over the man who now lay writhing on the floor, clutching his leg.

“Blast you, Pryce,” Fitch choked out as Samuel hovered close, knife at the ready, “why didn’t you just kill me? You want to torture me, is that it?”

“The shot came from your gun, not mine,” Morgan said, rage making his voice tight. “You of all people should know the hazards of waving a loaded pistol in Lady Clara’s face.” He stepped up to Fitch, then pressed the muzzle of his own pistol to the man’s head. “But if it’s killing you want, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

Fitch went still. Then he gazed unflinchingly up at Morgan. “Go on, and make it quick. My years of playing to the crowd are long past, and I won’t give the rabble the satisfaction of seeing me hang.”

The temptation to pull the trigger surged through Morgan—heady, powerful, and all the more seductive because he feared it was the only way to see justice done. Despite what Fitch thought, the man might not hang if he went to trial. No one could prove that the Specter had killed Jenkins or anybody else, and being a fence—even a master fence—wasn’t a capital crime. So Fitch could end up with only fourteen years’ transportation.

After almost killing Clara…

The blood rage filled Morgan’s vision, and he tightened his finger on the trigger.

Then he felt Clara’s gentle hand on his arm. “You’re not like him, Morgan. Don’t make yourself like him.”

“He was going to kill you,” Morgan rasped, the memory of his fear for her still seared into his senses.

“Yes, and the law will punish him for that, so you don’t have to. You’re not thirteen anymore. You can trust the law to take care of this. You don’t have to endure blood on your hands in order to find justice.”

Samuel made some inarticulate sound, and Morgan glanced over to see the young man watching, waiting to take his cue from Morgan. Samuel’s knife was still at the ready, and Morgan could tell he itched to use it. However Morgan acted now would shape the man’s life for years to come.

“You’re better than this,” Clara said softly. “I know you are.”

Morgan looked at her, at her face shining with faith that he would do the right thing. A pure faith in him.

For the first time, he realized she was right. He
was
better than this. He was not and never could be a man like the Specter. Not even in Spitalfields.

As the blood lust died abruptly in him, he lowered his pistol.

“Kill me,” Fitch growled, clutching his bleeding leg to his chest at Morgan’s feet. “You know you want to do it.”

“Yes,” Morgan admitted. “But not badly enough to lose what remains of my soul. So get up. Ravenswood and his men are waiting.”

Clara sat with Samuel on a settee out of the way of the commotion. Morgan had ordered them to stay put while he dealt with Fitch, and she’d been only too happy to oblige. For one thing, she still shook from the terror of watching Fitch raise his pistol toward Morgan. For another, she didn’t want to interfere with the men who now swarmed over the house, searching for stolen goods and other evidence of the Specter’s activities.

While some of Lord Ravenswood’s men carried Rodney Fitch off, Morgan and his lordship questioned Fitch’s still groggy footman. Then Lord Templemore arrived, and more chaos ensued as he demanded explanations and Lord Ravenswood had to provide them.

“Who’s that fellow who looks just like the cap’n?” Samuel asked beside her, gaping at Lord Templemore.

“That’s the Baron Templemore,” Clara explained. “He’s Morgan’s twin brother.”

Samuel gave a low whistle. “Does that mean Cap’n Pryce is—”

“Yes. And his real name is Blakely. He’s been working for that other gentleman there, trying to capture the Specter.”

“You knew?”

“I found out. The night I went to his shop, and he got shot.”

“Ohhh,” Samuel said, as if that explained everything. “I did wonder how you could take up with a fence. Didn’t seem like you.”

Eager to change the subject, Clara said, “How did you come to be here tonight?”

“Not by choice, I can tell you that.” Samuel jerked his head toward Fitch’s footman. “That fellow the cap’n is talking to grabbed me as I was heading toward the tavern to see Lucy this evening. He knocked me on the head and carried me back here. When I came to, I was tied up in the basement, and he was telling me how his master was gonna deal with me later personally after he got back from some meeting.”

“Fitch claimed he had paid you to leave London. I suppose he had a more permanent removal in mind.”

“S’pose he did.” Samuel shuddered. “When the footman left me alone down there in the dark, I had time to get my blade out. Y’see, Cap’n Pryce had taught me how to hide it so nobody could find it. That henchman of Fitch’s wasn’t too smart, anyway, so he never took it off me. It took me all this time to work the blade free and cut myself loose, but soon as I did, I came upstairs to see what was going on.”

“And did your part in saving my life and Morgan’s.” She patted his hand. “You paid us a good service tonight, and I’ll make sure you’re amply rewarded for it.”

“Didn’t do it for no reward,” he said with a shy smile. “I did it for you, m’lady. You brought my Lucy back to me, and I can never thank you enough for that.” He looked up and then broke into a grin. “And speaking of Lucy…”