Leslie Lafoy (38 page)

“Go!” Aiden barked, holding him by the fabric of his coat, keeping him upright but off balance. The jarring sent streaks of white-hot pain shooting through his skull, but he ignored them and struggled to pull himself free.

Aiden held fast, forcing him to watch Barrett sprint to the railing surrounding the stairwell, grasp it with one hand, and clear it to drop into the blackness. Wood splintered in the next second and only then did Aiden let him go.

He dashed forward, knowing his head wouldn’t let him jump the distance as Barrett had, and took the stairs two at a time, the pain pounding to the rhythm of his frantically beating heart. He careened through the door and slid to a stop. Barrett was stamping out coals on the floor. Treadwell lay sprawled and motionless across the bed. Sera was slumped—

He darted to her, his heart frozen with dread. “Sera!” he called, lifting her head, fighting back the tears as he saw the bruises around her neck, the sides of her face, her arms. He pulled the gag from her mouth and laid his hand on her chest to feel for her breathing. So shallow. So slow. But blessedly there.

“Sera!” he called again, cradling her head as he pulled the knife from his sleeve. “Just open your eyes for a second, angel. Just a second. Let me know you’re all right.”

Her eyelids fluttered and her lips parted and it was enough to send his heart soaring in gratitude. Gently, he eased her back and released her long enough to slice the ropes binding her to the chair.

Barrett stepped to his side. “This is the story, Carden. The pictures were stolen. You hired me to find them. John Aiden assisted me in the search. We found Reginald Carter just like this. That’s the story I’m telling the constables. Seraphina was never here. You were never here. Understood?”

He did, but he also saw a potentially fatal flaw in it. “Yes, but—” The thought evaporated at the sight of Sera’s raw and bloody wrists. Rage, primal and white-hot, shot through him. He straightened and whirled toward the bed, determined to wreak vengeance for every bit of pain Sera had endured.

But Gerald Treadwell couldn’t feel any more pain than he already did. His face and neck were hugely swollen; his tongue protruded from his mouth, bloated and blue. His chest rose and fell in the erratic, labored cadence that spoke of hovering death.

“Get Seraphina out of here, Carden,” his friend said softly. “Take her home. Take care of her. We’ll do what needs to be done here.” Over his shoulder he said crisply, “John Aiden, go find what passes for a physician in this neighborhood. And be quick about it. We don’t have much time.”

Carden nodded and slid his gaze away from the dying man. As he did it passed over an upended crate beside the bed. On it lay Arthur’s dueling pistol, the mate to the one taken from Bea and that was now safely tucked in the small of his back. Dark certainty settled over him and he swallowed down a surprisingly deep sense of loss and regret.

“Sco … lo…”

Carden spun at the faint sound. Her eyes were barely open and she was struggling to keep her head up. Relief flooded through him, wide and sweeping and glorious. He bent beside her and cupped her face in his hands, saying softly, “Don’t try to talk, Sera. I’m taking you home.”

Her brows knitted. “Pendra,” she whispered, her voice strained with a heart-wrenching urgency he didn’t understand.

“No one moves!” Aiden ordered crisply and with sufficient conviction and force that Carden held his breath.

Aiden stepped close and smoothed a lock of Sera’s hair from her cheek. “What, Seraphina?” he asked gently. “Say it again.”

She knitted her brows and on a shallow breath said, “Sco…”

“Scolopendra?”

Sera relaxed into his hands and Carden looked up into Aiden’s wide eyes, silently demanding an explanation.

“Nastiest, meanest frigging bug in the tropics,” Aiden supplied quickly. “Moves fast and eats meat. Viciously. If you’re even the least bit sensitive to the venom, you end up like Gerald Treadwell.”

Aiden turned away and stared at the bed, at the litter of Sera’s paintings. “It’s here somewhere and we damn well better find it before one of us is the next meal. Carden, shake out Seraphina’s skirts. And shake them well. Check her hair, too. The son of a bitch can climb and it can cling.”

Carden eased Sera back in the chair, made sure she was balanced, quickly ran his fingers through her hair, and then took out his knife again.

“It would help to know what the thing looks like,” Barrett snarled from behind him.

Aiden held his hands up about eight inches apart. “It’s about this long, dark brown, hundreds of yellow legs. Don’t put your hands where you aren’t looking. Don’t lean up or even brush against anything.”

Carden swore under his breath, slipped the blade inside Sera’s bodice and drew it toward himself, cutting the fabric all the way down to the hem.

“And when we find it?”

“Knock it to the floor with something and step on it.
Fast.
And hard.”

Barrett looked over at him just as he finished slicing open the waistband of Sera’s hooped crinolines. “What are you doing?”

“Aside from ending any possibility that one of the goddamn monsters could bite her…” Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he lifted her enough to shove the crinoline down over her hips. She murmured in protest, but he hushed her and pushed it down past her knees. It fell to the floor around her feet and he slipped his other arm under her and lifted her up to cradle her against his chest.

“What if someone sees a woman in a red dress being carried out of here?” he asked, his mind arrowing back to his earlier concerns about Barrett’s plan. “There were red beads all over the floor when we came through the door, Barrett. Even the thickest constable could put it together. It’s a big hole in your story.”

“What if people saw her being hauled in here?”

“She left before you two got here. They just didn’t see her go.”

“All right. It’s believable.”

“There’s the bastard!”

It took Aiden two stomps before he was finally fast enough to catch it between the sole of his shoe and the floor. “That was a small one,” he declared over the popping crunch. “There’s probably more of them. Keep looking. And be careful about it.”

Barrett looked at him askance and swore.

“Put the gown and what’s left of the ropes in the stove,” Carden instructed, carrying Sera toward the door. “When Aiden goes out to find the physician, have him toss her hoops somewhere along the way. I’ll see you at the house later. And bring that pistol lying on the crate with you.”

He left them to their tasks, carried Sera up the stairs, and into Barrett’s waiting carriage. O’Mara waited until he’d dropped into the seat with his precious cargo before slamming the door closed behind him. The driver instantly snapped the whip and they were on their way.

“Sweet Sera,” he whispered, dragging the carriage blanket over her, tucking it close around her, kissing her brow. “My sweet, sweet Sera.”

She shifted slightly in his arms, her cheek burrowing feebly against his shoulder. “I’m here, angel,” he assured her, drawing her closer. “I have you. We’re going home.”

“Cold.”

He shifted about, keeping her covered with the blanket as he opened his coat and drew her inside. Resting his cheek on her head, he savored the scent of her, the feel of her cradled against him. How close he’d come to never holding her again. “I was so afraid,” he whispered, his chest aching, tears welling in his eyes. “I thought I’d lost you, Sera.”

With a contented sigh, she melted into him and softly murmured his name. The fullness in his chest bloomed and flooded through him. There was no resisting the power of it, no retreating from the truth. And he didn’t want to.

He gathered her close and shared the truth with her. “I love you, Sera. I love you with all my heart.”

C
HAPTER
22

Sera awakened with a start and then, seeing the comforting familiarity of her room, eased back into her pillow. It was nice to be among the living, she thought, looking up at the ceiling. She moved her arms and legs, stretched her shoulders and her neck, and decided that she didn’t hurt too badly—especially considering all she’d been through the night before. Her wrists and ankles burned a bit; not enough to bring tears to her eyes by any means, but enough that she doubted that she could tolerate stockings or cuffs for a day or two.

She lifted her arm and studied the bandage wrapped and tied around her wrist. Carden must have done that for her. After her bath. It had been dark and he’d talked to her softly. He’d kissed her and told her to dream of him. She’d slept so deeply after that.

There were other snippets of memory. None quite as clear. There was a vague recollection of Mrs. Miller being tucked under her arm, of Anne tending the fire in the hearth, and of Sawyer checking her brow.

But there were no memories of how she’d come home. Nothing after she’d seen the scolopendras racing over the bed. Which was a blessing, she knew. Before that moment, though … No, she wasn’t going to look back, wasn’t going to remember. It was done. She and Carden had survived. That’s what mattered.

And that she get herself out of bed and back into life, she admonished herself. She glanced over at the windows, at the slit of light peeping past the draperies. The soft light of mid-morning. Yes, she needed to be up and about.

She stretched languidly, happily, then pushed aside the coverings and sat up. There, lying at the foot of the bed, was her wrapper. Lying atop it was a shiny new hand spade tied with a bright red ribbon. Grinning, she slipped from bed and scooped it up. One end of the ribbon had been passed through a paper tag.

You’ll find the rake in the conservatory.

Laughing, she quickly saw to her morning ablutions, pinned up her hair, slipped her feet into her mules, snatched up her wrapper, and set off to find him.

*   *   *

It was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. Yesterday the conservatory had been barren and brown, a disgrace to horticulture. And today … The palms grew to the very roof, green and lush and thick. The air was moist and warm and scented with flowers, their colors splashing vividly from front to back, top to bottom.

The only thing that remained the same was the furniture and it was where she’d arranged it. And sitting in a chair, his bare feet propped up on the wicker table, sat her handsome rake. He had the most beautiful smile, the most wonderful eyes. Closing and laying aside his book, he rose and came to her, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Good morning, angel,” he said, taking her in his arms and kissing her lightly. “How are you feeling?”

Safe. Treasured. Loved. “Hardly as sore as I expected to be,” she replied because she knew that was the kind of answer he wanted. “What happened in here?”

“Lady Godwin, she of the spit-and-twig conservatory, decided she needed a new one if Lady Caruthers was getting one. And since her old one has to come down before the new one can go up, there was a question of what to do with her jungle in the meanwhile. I very generously offered to keep it for her.”

“All of this has been moved since yesterday afternoon? How, Carden?”

“It’s been two days, two nights, Sera. The doctor said we should just watch you and let you sleep off the laudanum. So we did.” He bent his head and brushed a kiss over her lips. “And while you were dreaming of me, I had Paradise moved for you.”

Her heart filled to overflowing, she gazed up at him and wondered at the marvel of his kindness, his caring. “Have you slept at all?” she asked softly.

“A bit here and there. But enough,” he replied with a shrug. “Would you like a cup of tea?” His smile widened. “I’d offer you a brandy, but aside from it being a bit early in the day, the doctor also said neither one of us should be drinking spirits for a least a week. So far, I’ve been very good about heeding his advice.”

She cupped his cheek and searched his eyes. “Are you all right? What did Gerald do to you?”

He cocked a brow roguishly. “I have a rather healthy knot on the back of my head. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes.” She started to step out of his embrace, but he held her tight and turned his shoulders so that she could see the nape of his neck from just where she was. The knot was the size of an egg. “Oh, Carden,” she whispered, thinking of the pain he must be enduring.

He turned back squarely to her and the light in his eyes had nothing whatsoever to do with pain. “Camille says kisses make bumps feel better.”

“She’s right.” Stretching up on her toes, she kissed him, reveling in the taste of him, in the wondrous way his lips fit against and welcomed hers. Heaven was kissing Carden Reeves. She could easily spend a lifetime doing it, she decided, drawing back.

“Don’t tell Camille, but your kisses work much better than hers do.”

She laughed and traced a fingertip over his lower lip. He kissed it and then said, “I have something to show you.”

She arched a brow. “The scar on your thigh?”

Laughing, he took her hands in his. “Close your eyes and trust me.”

Sera had never trusted anyone as deeply and unconditionally as she did him. He drew her forward and she went knowing that he wouldn’t let her stumble. A sound caught her ear and she tilted her head to better hear. “Carden, is that water falling?”

“Lady Godwin’s former gardener is a stickler for creating what he calls the proper atmosphere. He’s also aces with pipes and rocks.”

“Former?” she asked, her wrapper brushing a gardenia in passing.

“He’s my gardener now.”

“When am I going to meet him?”

“Not today. He has the day off. He’s definitely earned it.”

If the man had moved the contents of an entire greenhouse and established it in another over the span of two days, he deserved not only a day off, but a medal, too. They were nearing the waterfall; the sound was becoming clearer. It was over to her right. It couldn’t be a very big one; the splashing wasn’t loud enough for the water to drop from a height any greater than half a meter.

He stopped, saying, “Just stand here and don’t peek.” He released her hands and she let them fall to her sides. Yes, the waterfall was there, just ahead and off to the right as she’d thought. Carden had moved behind her.