Whirlwind Wedding (26 page)

His gaze bore into hers like a spear of fire. She'd never seen him this angry and although she knew he wouldn't hurt her, a chill edged down her spine at the banked fury in his eyes.

"You'll do nothing of the kind" he said very slowly and distinctly.

"I will if I must." Before he could voice another objection, she cradled his frowning face between her palms. "Do you believe I can help you?"

He studied her for a long moment and she wondered if he had any idea how the shadows in his eyes hurt her. She sensed he withheld something from her—some dark, terrible secret that ate at his soul, and she suspected he deliberately held back his feelings and thoughts from her so she'd have no chance to "see" them.

Dear God, his torment was painful to see. If only he would trust her with his secrets . . . and see how much she wanted,
needed,
to help him.

How much she loved him.

She'd never said the words, not quite ready to voice the depth of her feelings out loud and also not convinced he'd want to hear them, but dear God couldn't he see it in her eyes?

Finally he said "If I didn't believe William was alive and that you could help me find him, I never would have brought you here."

"Then let me help you. Please. I don't want you in pain any longer. Let me help you find the answers you seek. I'll stay so close to you, you'll be able to feel my every heartbeat."

She'd hoped to coax a smile from him, but his gaze remained serious.

Reaching up, he slid her palms from his cheeks and intertwined their fingers, holding her hands so tightly her fingertips tingled. She could not clearly read his thoughts, but there was no mistaking his turmoil.

Just when she felt sure he was going to send her home, he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a heated kiss against her fingers.

"Let's go in," he said.

The sign hanging outside the pub read THE FILTHY SWINE.

The instant Elizabeth entered she decided the establishment was aptly named. The stench of sour liquor and unwashed bodies enveloped her like a noxious cloud. She fought the urge to gag brought on by the smell combined with the pungent smoke hanging heavily in the air.

Through the dimly lit interior she discerned coarse-looking men sitting at small wooden tables, hunched over grimy glasses. When she and Austin appeared in the doorway, the din of conversation ceased and everyone stared at the newcomers with suspicious, hostile eyes.

In spite of her earlier bravado, trepidation skittered through her and she inched closer to Austin. This group looked like they wouldn't hesitate to stick a knife in them if given the least provocation, but clearly the downright dangerous look in Austin's eyes kept anyone from approaching them.

"Keep your eyes downcast and don't speak," Austin said quietly. He led her to a scarred table in the farthest corner. The weight of the patrons'

stares bore into her back, but conversation began humming again once they were seated.

A woman wearing a filthy, grease-splattered gown sidled up to their table. "Wot will you gentlemen be wantin'?"

Elizabeth peeked up from under the brim of her cap and pity suffused her. The woman was painfully thin and her skin was badly bruised. Daring to peek up farther, she saw that the woman's lips were swollen and a yellowish bruise marred her cheek. She stared at them through the deadest eyes Elizabeth had ever seen.

"Whiskey," Austin said. "Two."

The woman straightened and winced pressing a hand to the small of her back. "Two whiskeys it is. If you gents are lookin' fer a bit more than liquor, me name's Molly."

Elizabeth drew a deep breath. Dear God how awful that anyone would be forced to exist in such wretched surroundings. Her heart pinched in sympathy for Molly, and she wondered if the poor woman had ever known happiness.

"Are you all right?" Austin whispered.

"That woman. She's . . ." She shook her head and bit her lip, unable to describe such despair.

"A whore." He leaned forward. "Did you sense something from her?"

Hot tears pushed at the backs of Elizabeth's eyes. Casting surreptitious glances across the room, she saw Molly making her way through the throngs of men. Nearly every man groped her as she passed grabbing her breasts or squeezing her buttocks, but she barely reacted and her eyes remained flat.

"I felt only despair," Elizabeth whispered. "I've never seen such utter hopelessness."

"She would no doubt rob you in an instant if she thought she could. In fact, I'd wager that before we leave here she'll attempt to pick your pocket."

"If I had any coins with me, I'd gladly give them to the poor creature.

Dear God Austin, she's been beaten and it looks as if she hasn't eaten a decent meal in weeks."

Just then Molly appeared and set down two grimy glasses of whiskey.

Austin reached into his pocket, withdrew several coins, and laid them on the table. Not a whisper of reaction flickered in Molly's eyes.

"All right," she said in an emotionless voice. "Which one of yer is first?"

Her bruised eyes suddenly narrowed to slits. "Don't be thinkin' I'll take both of yers at once, 'cause I don't do that."

Elizabeth pressed her lips together, hoping her shock at such a suggestion didn't show. She couldn't begin to know the horrors that faced this poor woman on a daily basis. Pity overwhelmed her and she blinked back the tears that pooled in her eyes.

"I only want information," Austin said in an undertone. "About a man named Gaspard." He described the Frenchman. "Have you seen him?"

Molly thought for a moment, then slowly shook her head. "Can't say fer sure. Too many men in and out of this sty every night, and to be truthful, I try me best not to look at their faces. Only thing I know is they all smell bad and they've all got big, mean hands." Her gaze flickered to the coins on the table. "You need anythin' else?"

"No, Molly. Thank you." Picking up the coins, Austin handed them to her. He then reached into his pocket and withdrew several gold coins that he gave her as well.

Molly's eyes widened to saucers. She shot a stunned, questioning glance at Austin. "All this?" she asked. "Just fer a bit o' talkin'?"

Austin nodded once. Tucking the coins into her bodice, Molly moved quickly away, as if fearing he'd ask for them back.

"How much money did you give her?" Elizabeth asked. "Enough to feed her."

"For how long?"

He hesitated for an instant, as if uncomfortable to say, then he shrugged.

"For at least six months. Have you felt anything yet?"

"No. It's often difficult in a crowd. Too many sensations hit me all at once, resulting in a muddle. I need to close my eyes and relax."

"Very well. You do that and I'll look about to see if I recognize anyone."

She nodded and closed her eyes. Austin took careful note of every patron, but none looked familiar to him.

After several moments Elizabeth opened her eyes. "I'm sorry, Austin, but I cannot discern anything that could help us."

"Then let's go," he said standing. "There are other places to investigate."

They left the pub without incident and entered the waiting hack. Austin gave an address to the driver and settled himself across from Elizabeth. In the dim light, with her masculine clothing, she could indeed pass for a young man, a notion he found oddly disturbing as he knew she was all woman.

"I'm sorry I was not able to sense anything in the pub," she said. "Perhaps we shall have more success in the next place. Where are we going now?"

"A gaming hell. According to my information, Gaspard was recently sighted there."

"I see." She hesitated, and he noticed that she was twisting her fingers together. "I'd like to thank you for your generous gesture toward Molly."

His conscience pricked him, urging him to tell her that he wouldn't have glanced at that whore if not for her, but before he could speak, she reached out and laid her hand on his sleeve.

"You're an extraordinary man, Austin. A remarkable and wonderful man."

His throat tightened. Bloody hell, there she went again, all but turning him into porridge with a single touch. A gentle word. A warm glance. She melted him like snow tossed into a fire.

And instead of being appalled by the admission, instead of wanting to flee or push her away, he ached to take her into his arms. Hold her. Love her. Try to somehow explain these unsettling feelings she evoked in him.

Taking her hand he pressed a heated almost desperate kiss to her gloved palm. "Elizabeth. I—"

The hack jerked to a halt, cutting off his words. Peering out the window, he saw that they'd arrived at their destination. Helping Elizabeth from the hack, he led her into a narrow alleyway between two seedy, crumbling brick buildings. They made their way down a set of steps littered with trash and entered the gaming hell.

The room was noisy, dimly lit, and dingy. Men from many different walks of life sat at the tables playing cards and throwing dice. Rough-talking sailors, a group of London dandies out on an adventure, members of the
demimonde;
anyone with money to gamble was admitted.

Again requesting that she keep her hat pulled low and eyes downcast, Austin led her slowly around the circumference of the room. She paused near the end of the scarred wooden bar.

Blocking her from the room with his back, he whispered "What is it?"

She frowned and shook her head. Without a word she peeled off her dark gloves and slipped them into her pocket. She then placed her hands on the bar. Her eyes slid closed.

Austin watched her closely, keeping her hidden from the rest of the room. Her breathing deepened and just when he didn't think he could stand her silence another moment, she opened her eyes.

"Gaspard has been here," she said.

His stomach clenched. "When?"

Her eyes grew troubled. "Tonight, Austin. He was here tonight."

Squeezing her eyes shut, Elizabeth held on to the bar, trying to assimilate the barrage of images flashing through her mind. The man Austin sought had been in this very place, and only several hours earlier. She was sure of it.

A clear picture blinked in her mind. "He's carrying a pistol." Her knees went weak. "He's used it to kill. More than once."

He gripped her hand and immediately more images materialized behind her closed eyes, flashing like lightning bolts. Her heart thumped painfully and the base of her neck throbbed as the disjointed impressions slowly took form. A clear vision swam through her brain and perspiration broke out on her brow. Light-headedness invaded her system, rendering her weak.

"Elizabeth, what's wrong?"

Austin's urgent whisper seemed to come from very far away. She struggled to open her eyes, but the images bombarding her sapped her strength. She was vaguely aware of a commotion, of being lifted up and carried, but she was too weak to protest. Blackness engulfed her and she slipped into oblivion.

Austin had never been so frightened in his life. Damn it, she was
unconscious.
Her face was pale as wax, her skin damp, her breathing labored. Ignoring the curious glances from several gambling patrons, he picked her up and strode from the building. Once outside, he barked out his direction to the hackney with orders to get them home posthaste. He closed the hack door behind them and tenderly laid her across his lap.

"Elizabeth," he said urgently, his body tense with fear. "Speak to me.

Darling, please, say something."

He patted her cheeks and alarm raced through him at the clammy texture of her skin. The frightening atmosphere and noxious fumes must have gotten to her, but damn it, why didn't she wake up now that they were outside? He never should have brought her here. If anything happened to her— Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked directly into his eyes. Relief hit him like a punch to the head. Laying his palm against her pale cheek, he tried to smile at her, but his facial muscles wouldn't cooperate. Bloody hell, he felt as weak as a newborn babe.

She attempted to sit up, but he kept her in place with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Relax," he managed to say.

Her eyes panned around. "Where are we?"

"In the hack, on our way home."

A frown furrowed her brow. "Home? But why?"

"I'm afraid you succumbed to the vapors."

"Vapors? Nonsense." She again tried to sit up and he again restrained her.

"Vapors," he repeated running his fingertips over her pale cheek, unable to keep from touching her. "For a robust girl, you went down like a tenpin."

She shook her head. "No, it wasn't the vapors. I had a vision. I saw it, Austin. I saw the entire thing. William. The Frenchman Gaspard."

That horrific night, that haunting scene that was forever burned in his mind bombarded him, attacking his defenses from all sides. She grasped his hand squeezing it, and her eyes widened.

Before he could utter a word she whispered "Dear God you were there.

You saw them together, loading crates of weapons onto a ship." He tried to rein in his thoughts, but there was no stopping them. Gripping his hand tighter, she said "William saw you in the shadows. He went to you and you argued bitterly. You tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen. Then you watched your brother sail away . . . with an enemy to your country."

Pain whipped through him, lashing him with guilt. "He was handing over weapons," he whispered barely aware he was speaking. "He saw me and left the ship. He pulled me into an alleyway, away from Gaspard's eyes. I asked him how he could do this, but he refused to answer me. Told me to mind my own business and leave. We quarreled. I threatened to turn him in . . . I told him he was no longer my brother."

"You've never told anyone?"

"No." He leaned his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. "If it ever got out that William was a traitor, my family would be destroyed. I had to protect Caroline and Robert. My mother. I cannot believe that William would betray England but I know what I saw, and he did not deny it.