Shana Galen (25 page)

She gave him a bewildered look, and he lunged, knocking the dagger from her hand. It flew across the room, hitting a candle and toppling it. The room went dark, and he took advantage of the shadows to plow into her. It was a clumsy move, lacking in any semblance of finesse, but brute tactics had their place. He grazed her back, the force of his attack sending her reeling. He was unsettled as well but pivoted and threw himself on her legs, preventing her from regaining them.

“Off me,” she hissed.

“You’re certainly demanding, but if you prefer to be on top…” He grabbed her by the waist, yanked her over him, then caught her wrists and rolled. She screamed and flailed like a cat caught in a snare as he stared down at her. His hair had come loose from his queue, and it hung over his forehead and slapped at his jaw. “Now,” he said, “you are going to stay right here—”

Another crash. “Winn!” That was Elinor’s voice. Damn.

“Let me go!” She tried to claw him as he scanned the room for something to use to secure her.

If she’d been a man, he would have simply knocked her unconscious. She might be in league with Foncé, but he wasn’t going to hit a woman.

She inhaled sharply, and he frowned. Had she seen something?

“Burn in hell,” she spat.

“That’s a lovely—” Why did he suddenly smell something burning? He heard a whoosh across the room, and a set of flimsy curtains went up in bright orange flames. He shook his head. “Oh, hell.” The bloody knife had knocked the candle over and set the drapes on fire. He was a lodestone for fire tonight, and the prince would not thank him for burning down Carlton House—garish as it was. Now he had to secure the mistress
and
put out a fire.

“Winn!” Elinor again, and she sounded desperate.

“Coming!” He looked down at the woman. “It appears we will have to finish this conversation another time.”

“Another time, you’ll be dead.” Her leg came up, and her knee struck him in the back. She was limber; he would give her that. And the distraction was just enough for her to free a hand. She swiped at him, raking her fingers across his cheek. He was thankful that hand was still gloved, but he knew the act would leave marks.

And how was he going to explain that to his wife? And then he remembered his wife was in the next room. Well, that was one advantage to having Elinor work with him.

He’d flinched back to avoid the worst of her attack, but she’d grabbed whatever she could reach, which unfortunately happened to be a bed warmer. She swung the metal thing at his head, and he raised an arm to ward off the blow. The crack of metal against flesh reverberated through his bones, but he couldn’t hear it over what was now a roaring fire. He grabbed her arm and wrestled the bed warmer to the floor, wondering how far the fire had advanced toward the doorway.

There was only one way to check.

He hauled her to her feet, swung her around, and made a quick assessment of the situation. Smoke pooled on the ceiling, and he felt his lungs beginning to burn and his eyes sting. The fire licked across the wall and the carpet, and one thin line jutted across the door. That line would grow as it began to eat up the antique carpet fibers. He needed to act fast. He glanced at the woman, and she shook her head. “Oh, no you don’t.”

She gave him a hard shove, and he stumbled backward then caught her about the waist as she attempted to flee. He rammed her against the wall, dislodging a sconce and a portrait, but the act served only to make her angry. She swore at him as she crawled to her hands and knees. He fisted his hands and gritted his teeth, prepared to knock her out cold, but as she wobbled to her feet, he just couldn’t do it. Why couldn’t the impact with the wall have rendered her unconscious?

He glanced at the door again, saw the fire rapidly devouring the carpet and edging toward the hall. Then he heard a shout and saw the guards rushing back. Thank God. “Fire!” he yelled. “Hurry!”

He caught the mistress’s hand before she could strike him, and shoved her back against the wall, holding her steady around the throat. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate.

“Winn?”

He opened his eyes as Elinor rushed in. “I need you. What…?” She looked about the room with dawning horror.

“Slight problem.”

“Slight? Winn! You cannot set every building on fire. This is
Carlton
House
!”

“I’d have smothered it, but I’ve been a little busy.” He nodded to the woman whose throat he held in his hands. “I need something to secure her hands. If she were a man, I’d hit her, but…”

“Oh, I see.” Elinor nodded. “Step aside a moment.”

He frowned. “What are you going to do?” But he stepped aside. Truth be told, he was more than relieved to allow a woman to deal with the other woman. Elinor pulled her arm back, and Winn caught it.

He adjusted her fist. “Thumb on the outside, and hit from here.” He patted her bicep. Elinor reared back, and the mistress lunged to the side. But Elinor had fast reflexes and anticipated the move. She landed a solid punch, and the prince’s mistress crumpled to the floor.

Elinor shook her fist. “Ow.”

He blinked at her. “You hit her.”

“Well, it was obvious you weren’t going to do it.” She grabbed his hand. “Quick! Blue needs you.”

“Blue?”

Blue never needed anyone. A glance behind him showed Winn the guards were dealing with the fire and had it mostly contained. Ellie pulled at his arm again, and Winn followed her into the prince’s bedchamber.

“What the hell?”

It was worse than he’d thought.

Blue was still patting the prince’s shoulder when Elinor rushed back into the regent’s bedchamber. The prince had graduated from infantile screams to childlike whimpering sounds. He wore a voluminous nightshirt that looked like a tent around his wide girth, and pressed a scented handkerchief to his watering eyes.

“Where’s Foncé?” Winn asked as soon as he stepped into the room.

“He went through that door.” Blue pointed to a small, square opening in one of the wall panels. “Looks to be a secret tunnel.”

“My secret passage,” the prince moaned. “How did that awful man know of it?”

“Your Highness, you’ve had a terrible fright. Please lie back and rest.” She turned toward Winn and said, “He’s unharmed.”

Winn didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed on Blue. “Why haven’t you gone after him?”

Blue looked chagrined, and Elinor almost felt sorry for him. She’d already guessed the problem.

“Baron, do you remember when you asked me if there was anything at which I did not excel?”

Winn frowned. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“You said we did not want to know,” Elinor supplied.

“Because the only reason for you to know,” Blue said, still rhythmically patting the prince’s arm, “is if my deficiency were to affect us.”

“And?” Winn said, tone ominous.

Blue pointed to the tunnel. “I cannot go through there. I have a… dislike of small spaces.”

“I have a dislike of being burned to death, but you don’t see me cowering at the sight of fire.”

“Winn.” Elinor put her hand on his arm. “You can argue with Blue, or we can go after Foncé. If we don’t go now, we may be too late.”

“For heaven’s sake,” the prince exclaimed. “Go!”

For the first time, Winn looked at the regent. “Yes, Your Highness.” He started for the tunnel, and Elinor followed. “You are not coming with me,” Winn said.

“Yes—”

“Shh.” He put a finger over her lips. “No arguments. I’ll not risk your life again. You will not become another Crow around my neck.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her quickly but with heat. “I love you. I don’t know if you can ever love me again, but if I don’t come back, I want you to know that I love you. I was a fool all those years I didn’t love you, Ellie. I’m sorry. God, I am so very sorry for causing you pain.” He kissed her again, and before she could speak, he crouched and disappeared into the darkness.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “Come back so I might tell you in the flesh.” She wiped a tear from her eye before turning back to the prince and Blue.

The prince was frowning. “I thought that poem was about an albatross, not a crow.”

Elinor sighed and closed her eyes, praying Winn was safe.

***

The darkness in the cramped tunnel was complete. Winn could not see his hand in front of his face. He did think of taking a lamp, but then Foncé would see him coming. He needed the element of surprise to kill Foncé.

If he
found
Foncé.

Winn crawled steadily forward, wondering how the prince thought he would ever fit his massive girth into such a tight squeeze. The tunnel must have been built when the regent was somewhat slimmer. The farther Winn moved into the recesses of the tunnel, the more he began to think Foncé was already far, far away. The tunnel had two forks. One led to the kitchens. Winn should not have been surprised the prince wanted unfettered access to the delicacies his chefs prepared. He retraced his steps and took the second fork. From the cool air he began to feel on his face, he knew he was nearing the end of a tunnel leading to the world outside Carlton House.

But when he reached the exit, he found the small gate locked and padlocked. He peeked through the iron bars and saw only trees. The tunnel must lead into what had once been Marylebone Park. And, of course, it was locked in case it should ever be discovered by a dedicated walker.

Winn did not have the key. Presumably Foncé was in possession of a copy, if not the actual key. He lifted the padlock and found it rusted and warped. The damage was such that Winn doubted a key would be of any use. In which case, escape was only possible if the padlock was broken. It was still intact, which meant Foncé had not escaped this way.

How then? Had he escaped through the kitchens?

He might have a chance at escape in all the confusion of the night. But Winn had told the prince’s guards to secure the perimeter. And if Foncé was not in the tunnel—a fact Winn knew well from crawling through every small inch of it—and Foncé was not in the park, then Foncé was still in Carlton House.

With Elinor.

With a roar, Winn started back toward the prince’s chamber. His mind immediately catapulted back to that night when he lost Crow. He was too late. He’d been too late to save his friend, and now he would be too late to save his wife.

***

Elinor stared at the tunnel where Winn had disappeared, and shivered. It had certainly been easier when she hadn’t known the danger he was in. She didn’t worry about him. How was she going to go back to any semblance of a normal life after this? If Winn was not beside her, she’d be terrified he was off trying to get himself killed.

She heard another loud whimper from the prince and turned to look at Blue. He gave her a pleading look. Poor man. He was not used to dealing with emotional little girls. “Your Highness,” she said, walking toward him, “you must be brave.”

Blue moved away, and she stealthily took his place, patting the prince’s shoulder.

The prince nodded his agreement. “I do believe that man was going to slice me up. I want Lizzie.”

Elinor glanced at the doorway to the antechamber. She had a feeling Lizzie was still unconscious, either that or taken to the nearest magistrate. “Someone will be with you any moment now. There was a small fire.”

“A fire!”

Elinor grimaced. She should not have mentioned that detail. “Very, very small. I know your staff is anxious to be with you.”

Blue, who had been standing before the secret passage, turned now. “Why don’t I go and check on the progress?”

“Yes, do,” Elinor said. She could see he was still annoyed at himself for not having gone after Foncé. She didn’t particularly relish having to stay with the prince, but she would have rather stayed in his chamber in case Winn came back this way.

“I will return momentarily.” Blue was away with a whoosh of his cloak.

Elinor and the prince stared after him. A moment later, the regent said, “I wonder who his tailor is. He has excellent taste in fashion, and I find myself envious of that cloak.”

Elinor smiled to herself. Somehow she doubted the effete prince would cut the same dashing figure as Blue.

“I believe the spy’s tailor is the least of your worries,” a deep voice said. Elinor looked about the room for the speaker, but it was empty, save her and the prince. And then one of the doors to the antechamber swung shut, and Foncé stood smiling at them. He turned and locked the door.

Elinor gaped at him, her gaze drawn to the long, thin knife he held in his hand. The prince gasped and cowered behind her.

“You, madam,” Foncé said, moving toward them, “have as many lives as a cat. Do not look so surprised to see me. I have been here the entire time.”

She glanced at the tunnel, willing Winn to return. Behind her, the prince buried his face in her skirts and cried, “Save me!”

“I did think to escape through the tunnel,” Foncé said, moving still closer. Elinor wished she had some sort of weapon. She had no idea how to fire a pistol, but if she had one, at least she could heft it at him.

“But I quickly saw that would lead me nowhere,” Foncé continued, moving inexorably closer.

“But Blue—” Elinor began.

“Was distracted by this nincompoop.” Foncé gestured to the regent. “And I slipped back inside.” He was directly before Elinor now. “That was a touching display between you and Baron,” he said with a sardonic smile. “I am certain he will remember you fondly. Before he, too, dies.” Foncé arced the knife toward her, and Elinor lurched violently to the left, dragging the prince with her. She would have been fast enough, if not for her additional burden, and Foncé managed to scrape her arm. She glanced down at the thin line of blood, knowing it was only a surface wound. It barely stung.

“Stand still,” Foncé said. “I will make this quick and painless.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Elinor answered. She spotted a heavy vase and scooted toward it. The prince stumbled after her, still clinging to her gown, and Foncé shook his head, looking vastly amused.

“I would like to watch this farce all day,” he said, “but I have other matters to attend to.”

“Do not let me detain you.” Elinor swiped at the vase and grasped it.

Foncé opened his arms as though in challenge.

“No!” Prinny screeched. “Not the Sèvres!”

Foncé made several lunges toward her. She had the feeling he was but playing with her, trying to scare her. It was working wonderfully, but she was not going to use the vase until the last. Finally Foncé smiled and said, “Say good-bye.” He lunged, and she sidestepped awkwardly, smashing him over the head with the vase.

“No,” the prince cried. “I beg you. My Sèvres!”

Foncé stumbled but went after her. She backed away, reaching for a small plate on a table.

“Absolutely not, madam!” the prince said. “That is from the Ming dynasty.”

She ignored him and threw the plate the way one would throw a discus. It hit Foncé on the forehead, and a line of blood appeared. Foncé roared and came for her, his intention clear. He was through playing games. Elinor backed up, pushing the side table over and blocking Foncé’s charge.

“My precious pieces,” the prince sobbed. “Help! A madwoman is destroying my precious pieces!”

Elinor blew out a frustrated breath and rounded on him. “Your Highness, I am trying to save your life.”

“Must my art suffer for it?”

She lifted a porcelain figure of a shepherdess. “I’m afraid so.”

Foncé ducked when she hurled it, and kept coming. She saw him slash at her and managed to avoid the point of the knife, but the prince’s extra weight on her skirts caused her to lose her balance.

She stumbled, and a strong arm reached out to steady her.

***

Winn could hear the crashes and shouts as he neared the exit to the tunnel. In the darkness, he’d taken a wrong turn and ended up back in the passage leading to the kitchens. It had taken him several agonizing moments to trace his way back, and now he crawled as quickly as he could toward the flicker of candlelight. He heard Elinor’s voice, low and calm, and then he heard the prince’s higher, frightened pleas. Foncé had found them. Winn didn’t know how he’d done it, but he’d found her.

The tunnel seemed impossibly long, his movements impossibly slow. He would never reach her in time. He would not be able to save her. Without warning, he all but tumbled out of the passage and into the prince’s chamber. A slight curve in the passage had obscured the exit.

Winn rolled, came up on his knees, and stared at his wife.

With a knife to her throat.

***

Elinor saw the desperation on Winn’s features, and she knew what he was thinking. He thought he was going to lose her the way he’d lost Crow. He thought he was going to stand there and watch her die.

She was not entirely certain he was incorrect. She was not entirely certain of anything, since the prince was blubbering at full volume, and she could not think what her name was, much less how to escape this predicament.

She refused to think of a knife at her throat as anything more than a predicament. Do that, and she would begin to panic.

“Let her go,” Winn said. “Her death is nothing to you.”

“You are wrong,” Foncé answered. “She’s managed to elude me twice. I’m owed her death.”

“Take me instead.”

“No!” Elinor screamed.

“You’ll have the death of another member of the Barbican group to boast about. Either that, or let us both go and gut the prince. Your time grows short, and you can’t kill us all.”

“Treason!” the prince screamed. “Treason!”

“I am tempted to accept your offer if for no other reason than to shut him up!”

The prince closed his mouth then, looking equally chastised and regally offended.

“But, you see, I kill for sport. And the sport at the moment is to watch your face as she dies. Oh, that will be excessively diverting.”

Winn clenched his fists. In his effort to save Ellie, he’d just doomed her. And here he stood, helpless. If he went for Foncé, the man would slit her throat. If he stood here, he would be forced to watch Foncé slice the knife across her pale, graceful neck.

He could do nothing. It was the nightmare of Crow all over again.

The antechamber door rattled unexpectedly, and Blue said, “Hullo! It’s me. Open up in there.”

Foncé’s attention was momentarily diverted, and Winn leapt.

***

Elinor felt Foncé turn toward the door, and the knife slipped a fraction from her throat. It was all the diversion she needed. She stomped on Foncé’s foot and ducked out of his grasp. He caught her again immediately, but by then Winn had grabbed Foncé’s wrist and shook the knife free. Elinor turned and bit the hand holding her, and Foncé squealed and released her. She dove for the door. Winn and Blue together would capture Foncé without problem, but the regent intercepted her.

“Save me!” he screamed, pulling on her shoulder until she toppled over. “Save me!”

“Open the door,” Blue yelled. “Or we’ll break it down.”

Elinor glanced at Foncé and Winn, but she could not tell who was winning. Foncé hit Winn, who winced and rolled away, but when Foncé went for him—with yet another knife he pulled from his boot—Winn kicked him, and Foncé staggered back.

“Break it down!” she screamed and heard the first blows of the axe on the door.

“Don’t let him kill me!” the prince cried, clawing at Elinor.

“Your Highness, calm yourself. I will protect you,” she said in her best motherly voice.

Winn was on his feet now, and he charged into Foncé, who had fallen against a shelf of books. Foncé hit the shelf hard enough to rattle it, then grabbed Winn’s coat and sent him headfirst into the bookshelf.