Haunted Hearts (22 page)

And Olivia was caught in her traitorous company.

Quinn folded the information together with tense hands, and reached for a purse of coins. “Allow me to extend my thanks along with this payment. This information will be given to those who have some power to stop such acts of treason. You’ve served your country well.”

“Right-o,” said the man, pinching his fingers to his hat brim in a salute before he slipped from the house.

Lord Quinn stood quite still after the man was gone, his sour mood having shifted to fury. He’d nursed that worm, that creature who would do all she might to pull down his beloved England. He’d sponsored her, despite his growing suspicions, had made it possible for her to settle exactly in the crowd that made her treacherous business so much easier to conduct.

He closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses to feel his home. He lifted his arms and let his fingers reach for the ever-present tingle of magic. And there it was: a disruption.

So, worse yet, he’d made it possible for the treacherous vermin to unbalance the magical ley lines that overlaid this property. The proof of his conclusion was immediate: Olivia had said she’d not have him. That never would have happened if the magic had been whole and unstained by the very poison he had nursed at this, his home, his altar, his world’s hub.

Now he had to correct the error. Olivia was in love with another man, but she’d said that, just as their relationship had not been permitted to blossom, neither might this other with Lord Ewald. He, Richard Quinn, could put all the cosmic misalignments back into balance by bringing her nothing less than her heart’s desire. Only that would allow him to undo the damage his association with Lisette had caused.

How had he ever let Olivia go off with the very creature who threatened her happiness, who would damage the future of the greatest nation on earth? Even though the idea of truly surrendering hope of her to another made his heart hang all the more heavily in his chest, he couldn’t let anything happen, couldn’t let Lisette come between the destinies of Olivia and Lord Ewald; he shuddered to think what would happen if she succeeded.

He strode from the room, calling for the return of the carriage that had just been sent to the stables.

Chapter 20

They’d been in the carriage long enough their eyes could make out more in the dark now. As soon as Lisette realized Douzain had a bag, she seized it and dug through its contents.

“No weapon,” she assessed with disdain after a thorough search with both hands.

“It is too much,” Douzain grumbled.

Ian made no reply, lost in his own thoughts. He didn’t know how it had happened, but by some wonderment Olivia had refused to accept the worst of him. It must have somehow, miraculously, become clear to her there was more to him, to this interplay with Lisette, and she’d not retreated from it. Had in fact reached out to him, easing the wailing of his soul by a few simple taps in the darkness. Hope had been reborn from that simple acknowledging caress and the understanding carried with it. She didn’t care if he had a secret. He pledged, God willing, that not another day would go by where they didn’t speak, didn’t clear up the past, didn’t get beyond what had once been. He would see to that, regardless of Lisette or Douzain or anyone else in this world.

When Douzain’s comment solicited no response, the Frenchman went on, “I object to ‘er going through my bag, but, more so, that you do zis for me, my lord. To marry her”--he pointed at Lisette with disgust--“it is ’orrible. I feel the great guilt zat zis should ’appen.”

Ian merely shrugged.

Alexander cleared his throat. After having cast a great deal of scornful silence in his until-recent lover’s direction, now he joined in the commentary. “I object to this elopement as well. I mean to tell you, Lisette, I cannot help but feel you might have had something to do with your own…er…manhandling.”

She didn’t answer him except to give a click with her tongue and a disdainful sneer. Suddenly sitting forward, she cried out, “Why do we slow down?”

“Because we have arrived at our destination,” Ian stated. He turned to Douzain, reaching into his coat and handing the Frenchman a purse of money. “
Monsieur
, this is where we part. I was told your ship is the barque at the far end of this dock, the
Providence
.”

“Ship!” Lisette cried, her eyes darting to the window, her hands flying to her skirts as she acknowledged the truth of what she saw at the window with a French curse. A lamp marking the beginning of the dock lent more light by which she affirmed their location.

Douzain took Ian’s offering and his bag, and nodded to him. The Frenchman started to rise to slip out the coach door, only to pull up short when he saw Lisette had extracted a small pistol from a pocket in her skirt and leveled it at him.

Olivia gasped, and Alexander cried out in disbelief, “Lisette!”

“Lord Ewald, you almost out-witted me. I admit I zought we were hurrying toward Scotland.”

“Not tonight,” he said dryly.

She made a hissing sound, and the pistol stayed leveled at Douzain. “You are going nowhere,” she told him.

“I didn’t think of a pocket,” Ian commented, the glint of his eyes far more dangerous than his pleasant tone. “And I thought there was at least a chance you might sacrifice Douzain against the hope of marrying me,” he mused.

“We both know zat was never more zan a ruse,” Lisette snapped. “But I will allow you to take me to my associates.” Her eyes darted to Douzain. “Me and zis traitor.” To him, she said, “How could you trade your knowledge of troop movements to ze English? For mere money? How can you play so false against your homeland?”

“Ze ‘omeland zat never paid me for ze information--?” Douzain began to argue back, but Ian spoke over them both.

“
Mademoiselle,
tell me, how long can you be utterly vigilant? How long until you look away just for a moment? Before one of us tries to disarm you? You’ve not been so clever as you imagine. Give me the pistol, and I guarantee you will be treated gently until I hand you over to the Home Office.”

The word “until” hung between them in the carriage. Ian saw the gleam of metal that was the pistol, the hard line that was Lisette’s mouth, and Olivia’s bright, anxious eyes taking in everything.

“Eventually something will happen,” Ian insisted. “I will try to take the pistol. Or Douzain will leap from the carriage. A struggle is inevitable.”

Lisette raised her arm, bringing the pistol to shoulder level. “Zen I might as well shoot him,” she said. “And I will shoot you, and zis woman and her
stupide
brother.” Lord Hargood blew out an indignant breath. “You are all spies, so my country will be happy enough to know I have disposed of you.”

“Olivia? How do you figure her to be a spy?” Ian said at once, stalling automatically as he weighed the chances of lunging for the pistol.

“I saw you go together into zat shed, at the masquerade. I had her followed afterward, and learned zat the ‘Cat’ was Lady Stratton.”

Olivia only nodded confirmation. Hargood didn’t startle, so he’d known too, but he gave his sister a sideways glance of disapproval anyway.

“Ah. So you knew zis about her already, Lord Ewald. You only prove me correct to be suspicious of ze woman.”

“You could not have seen much at the masquerade, or else you would have known Lady Stratton and myself were hardly conducting affairs of state,” he drawled.

Alexander came half out of the squabs at the implication of intimacies, until the pistol swung his way. For her part, Olivia may have blushed, but there was nothing apologetic in her gaze as she murmured a protest for her brother’s sake.

Ian kept his eyes trained on Lisette and the pistol. “Should we choose to overpower you, you know you cannot kill us all. Think! Your career is finished, whether we live or die. You are no good as a spy for France now; too many people know who traveled with us in this carriage. If you are not found dead among us, they will know who the murderess is. There are too many witnesses about. The sailors waiting on the tide--”

Her snarl stopped his words, as did the answering glint in her eyes. She spoke softly. “Zose things are all true, my lord. Zerefore I will have to make a different manner of escape, and I can only do zat if I take a hostage.” She turned the pistol on Olivia.

Ian started forward, but a hard glare from Lisette stopped him. “You know I will kill her. All of you, climb down at once.”

The men exchanged glances.

“Now!” Lisette screamed, the sound echoing in the small space.

Douzain reached for the door, but before he descended he looked at Lisette and hissed, “
Vache!
”

“
Bastard!
” she hissed back.

Alexander gave a parting shot, too. “To think I held you in my arms!” He spat on the carriage floor at her feet. Ian remained seated, not moving.

“Get out,” she said, making a quick flicking motion with the pistol toward the carriage door, the lamplight through the open door letting them see a small muscle in her jaw working.

“I would make you a much better hostage,” he pleaded.

“You would not. You, a spy, always knew and accepted the danger. But if zis one is as innocent as you claim, zen you will not risk her taking harm. And even if she is entirely guilty, still I know I am far more safe with her, for to send
gendarmes
after me is to send death after her, I promise you. Now, no more talking, no more delays. Get out.”

His jaw tightened as his whole body tensed, but then his eyes focused on the pistol’s muzzle.
Can I push it aside? I could take the bullet, so long as Olivia is not hit… But if all goes ill…

“I will come after you, you know that,” he ground out, even as he reluctantly rose.

“Go,” was Lisette’s only reply.

Olivia’s hand shot out, touching his own. Lisette made a warning noise in her throat. His fingers wrapped around Olivia’s hand, squeezing three times, hard. His eyes were full of anguish and dark promises of revenge for this moment. His voice was deadly as he told Lisette, “Heaven help you if she’s harmed.”

He released Olivia’s hand and, once outside, suddenly checked, his body stiffening. He cried out, “Olivia, get down!” even as he flung himself back into the doorway, pushing her down and into the side panel as he tried to cover her with his own body.

A flash of light illuminated the inside of the carriage, momentarily making everything entirely clear and colorful, but it faded in a heartbeat. The loud crack that had accompanied it, however, lingered in the ears. Still, even with ears ringing, Ian heard the pistol in Lisette’s hand fall with a heavy clunk to the floor.

He moved off Olivia, scrambling up into the coach, his foot connecting with the hard metal of the pistol. He didn’t hesitate, kicking it from the carriage. He went into a half crouch in the limited space, facing Lisette, ready for attack.

The woman looked up slowly, the light of the lamp having been brought nearer; it showed where her hand came away bloody from her right shoulder. “I’m shot!” she gasped.

“And soon to be hanged,” Lord Quinn assured her, pushing his face past Ian to look within the coach, Lisette’s pistol now in one hand, the dock’s lamp in the other.

“Lord Quinn!” Olivia cried.

Ian reached out two hands to gather Olivia’s in his own. As Quinn backed up, Ian climbed down from the carriage, never letting go of her hands, and hurried her away from the bleeding woman. Quinn leveled Lisette’s pistol at her where she sat white-faced, assuring she stayed where she was.

The minute Olivia’s feet touched the ground, Ian pulled her into his embrace. She melted into him, letting her hands clasp him hard about the ribs. He pulled back, just enough to take her face in his hands, hands that trembled just a little. “When I had no choice but to climb down and leave you with her…!” he ground out.

For an answer she slipped her arms around his neck, and he hugged her so tightly she was forced to go up on tiptoe.

At length he set her back, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief. “You’ve blood on your face. I don’t want that creature’s blood on you a moment longer,” he said, applying the handkerchief to her brow, nose, and left cheek, “as we know it is quite poisonous.”

She reached up, her hands clasping his wrists as he tenderly wiped her face.

People had come, summoned by the sound of a pistol shot and a woman’s wailing as Lisette was wrestled from the coach by Hargood. The initial red blossom on her gown now had added terrible stripes all down her front. Several explanations had to be given to the new arrivals before Hargood was given Quinn’s kerchief for binding Lisette’s hands together. Olivia’s brother followed as two chosen sailors dragged a weakly struggling Lisette to one of the ships and its surgeon’s attentions.

At length Ian wrenched his eyes from Olivia’s face to look at Lord Quinn. “Thank you for your timely arrival, my lord. How is it you happened to come after us, and so well prepared?”

“You were easy enough to follow. You told your coachdriver to wave his whip and act the fool?”

Ian nodded. “I wasn’t sure he heard my whisper after I told him aloud to be away at once. I didn’t know if anyone would report us or follow, but I’m sincerely glad you did.”

“It worked, for he was noticed. I was able to see you must be making for the docks, not toward Scotland at all.” He looked to Olivia, but spoke to Ian. “I’m only glad you also had the wit to pull Lady Stratton out of the line of fire.”

Ian’s arm slipped around Olivia’s waist.

Quinn put down the lamp at their feet, and reached to his pocket to produce the papers the Bow Street Runner had brought him. “I give you proof of the vile creature’s traitorous activities. I know you can get them into the right hands. Justice must be had. For England, of course.” He looked down at Olivia in Ian’s embrace, with a chagrined uplifting of one corner of his mouth. “And for my friend, Lady Stratton.”

She stretching out her hand to him. “Thank you. Thank you so much, my lord.”

Lord Quinn made her a bow, then closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “I can feel it, can you not?” he asked of no one in particular as he opened his eyes again. “The rightness of it all--I do believe the cosmos is pleased with today’s work. Fine work, indeed.”