“No, Justin. You cannot go,” Evelyn insisted. Fear was like a fever splintering across her flesh, making her want to scream, but she kept the panic from her voice, focusing on being convincing instead. “I cannot abide you placing yourself in peril. You’ve barely recovered from your last encounter with the colonel.”
Steely resolve infused his handsome features. “It’s the only way he agreed to meet.”
Señor Arolas nodded, assuring her, “I don’t think Wheaton will hurt him. He needs to tell us what he wants, and he’ll use Barclay to communicate. That’s all. Moreover, I know it’s only a gut feeling, but the men worked side by side for four years, the marquis knows his comrade.”
Crossing her arms to stop them from shaking, Evelyn scoffed, “If he knew the man so well, we would not be in this tussle. The knave would be behind bars, where he belongs.”
Justin had the audacity to smile. “I’m glad you’ve so much confidence in me.”
“I cannot afford to lose another of my friends,” she bit out.
Justin’s smile faded to a scowl. “As my friend, you don’t have much say in the matter. I will meet the colonel at the appointed place and time.”
She glared at him, her anger lying more with the puppeteer maneuvering their strings than with Justin. Her stomach was clenched in a knot no laundress could unwind. She tried once again, “There must be another way.”
“I know you’re worried, Evelyn, but I have this well under control,” Justin soothed. “And I’m going into this with a strategy of my own.”
She withheld her groan.
“Ye of little faith,” he chided, trying not to look hurt.
She stepped over to him and rested her hand on his arm. “There’s not enough faith in the world when it comes to your safety, Justin.” She willed him to see the affection behind her arguing. “I fear for you,” she whispered softly, for his ears only.
He kissed her forehead as one would a younger sister. “The plan proceeds as we discussed.”
This was unacceptable. Pasting a brittle smile on her lips, she turned to Señor Arolas. “Señor, if you would excuse us a moment?”
“Certainly, my dear.” He strode from the room, smiling a wicked grin. The door banged closed with a hard thud.
She turned on Justin. “I don’t want you to go.”
“What we wish for seems to have little connection with reality these days,” he echoed her remark from the day before as he slipped into a large armchair by the hearth. He could not hide his wince as he adjusted his bandaged foot.
She faced the fire, praying for an answer from the fanning flames. Thank heavens it did not burn with those spices the colonel seemed to favor. Instead, the natural scent of wood smoke filled the lavish drawing room, reminding her of the enticing scent of the stubborn man sitting in the chair behind her.
She turned and crouched before him. “Please, Justin. You admired the man for years. It’s too difficult for you to see him as he is, a vile monster.”
“Just because I am trying to understand his motives does not mean that I don’t loathe him for what he’s done. And what he’s become.”
She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “He will use you against me.”
“He has Angel and Sully, he doesn’t need me.” He stared into the blaze as if to discern the truth behind these treacherous games. He asked quietly, “Would he, ah, have much more to bargain with if he did happen to try to use me as leverage?”
She rubbed her hand over her weary eyes. Lord, if the colonel only knew how much she’d grown to care for Justin in their short acquaintance, she might as well just fold her cards now.
At her lack of response he grimaced, mumbling, “I guess there’s my answer.”
She rose and, without rational thought, dropped herself down on his well-muscled thighs, where she snuggled into his lap.
He quickly wrapped his steely arms around her and hugged her close to his chest, nuzzling his face in her neck. “You smell delightful.”
Sighing, she cuddled closer. “So do you.” In the past days she’d found herself leaning toward Justin, surreptitiously seeking out his scent, in their various conveyances, at mealtimes, in the study, virtually anywhere. Now she soaked in his flavor at her pleasure and relished the radiance of his warmth, which comforted her as no mere fire could.
He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, sending delicious shivers chasing down her spine.
Raising her hand, she lightly brushed his hair, loving the velvety feel of his locks. She rested her forehead against his chin and whispered, “I cannot stand the idea of anything happening to you.”
“You mean other than what already has?” he countered lightheartedly. “I’ve been shot at, had a bookcase fall on my head, been booby-trapped into damaging my foot.”
“It’s a wonder you’ve made it through all that as whole as you have!”
He curled a loose tendril around her ear, raising the delicate hairs on her neck. “But I’m not whole. I’ve lost my superior, my faith in following orders, in doing my duty…and I’ve lost,” he swallowed, “I’ve lost my heart.”
Shivers raced up and down her spine, and tears burned her eyes. “Then for the love of God, don’t go to this meeting.”
The arms encircling her tightened, then relaxed. He ground out, “It’s for the love of my country and for you that I must go.” He moved to shove her away, but she pressed herself deeper into his embrace.
She pushed back against those muscled arms, not letting him thrust her aside. “I am not toying with you to get you to do my bidding, Justin.”
“Why else would you do it, if you don’t love me?”
“I didn’t say I don’t love you.”
“Your feelings are quite evident,” he replied bitterly. “Since returning from the country we’ve been nothing more than—”
“We’ve been a bit busy, Justin,” she interrupted. Sighing, she shrugged. “But it’s more complicated than that.”
“It seems pretty apparent. I shouldn’t have hoped you’d reciprocate my feelings.”
“That’s not it, Justin. I have feelings for you galore.” Grabbing his dimpled chin in her hand, she pressed her nose to his. “But what I feel for you terrifies me down to my toes. I’m afraid to trust what I feel because it causes me too much hope!”
Those greenish-gray eyes watched her warily. “I don’t understand.”
She blew out a long breath. “Neither do I. All I know is that when you are near, I feel…giddy. My stomach does these annoying little flip-flops, my cheeks heat at inappropriate moments, chills seem to live under my skin, and yet I feel warm all over.”
“Sounds like a fever;” he quibbled, his minty breath tickling her cheeks.
“Oh, worse than any fever; I want to dream.”
“What’s wrong with dreaming?”
“It brings hope, which eventually leads to betr—pain.”
“Betrayal. You were going to say betrayal.” He shook his head. “I cannot fathom what I was thinking in deceiving you as I did.”
She looked away. “You thought it was in defense of your country—”
“Don’t defend me, it only makes it worse!” It was his turn to make her face him. He tipped her chin with his finger. “And don’t lie to me. I know you still have not forgiven me.”
“But I have. My heart just cannot seem to get past the hurt.” She felt it like a hole burning in her chest, so piercing it brought tears to her eyes. She pressed her hand over her breast and swallowed. “It hurts, and there doesn’t seem to be much I can do for the pain, other than to ignore it and move on.”
“Ignore it and move on,” he repeated, bitterness infusing his clipped tone. “Well, I cannot ignore it. It’s too real, too magical. Do you have any idea how you’ve transformed my pitiful existence? It’s as if my life were a painting, half-done. Incomplete for lack of color until you crashed into it with your joy, your courage, your laughter—” He captured one of her teardrops on the tip of his finger and brought it to his smooth lips. “And your tears. You make me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt in my lifetime, Evelyn. I cannot ignore it any more than I can ignore the beating of my heart.”
She sniffed. “You should have been the bard.”
They held each other close, cherishing the comfort in the chaos of their emotions and their madcap world.
He cleared his throat. “I want you to know that your inheritance is free from legal challenge.” He asked quietly, “Can you ever forgive me?”
“In many respects I already have.”
“But not in all?”
The fire crackled as the clock on the mantel chimed three times.
She toyed with the brass buttons of his sea green coat. “Part of me feels silly for not being able to just toss my anger to the wind.”
“Most folks would not be able to look me in the face for the things I’ve done to you. In contrast, you nursed me back from death’s door.”
“I did that for selfish reasons. I wanted your help to save Sully.” She raised her hand to that dear face and pressed her palm to Justin’s scratchy cheek. “I think the reason it hurts so much is that I care so much.” She frowned, trying to articulate her feelings. “I’ve never loved a man, I mean in that way, but I seem to love quite strongly when I do care for someone.”
“Are you saying that you don’t love Angel?”
“Not that way.”
“Not what way?”
“You are beginning to make this feel like a tooth extraction,” she gibed, only half-jokingly. She blew out a long breath. “If you’re going to make me say it, I’ve never felt for anyone else what I feel for you.” It was true. If she ever did consider marriage, Justin would be the one man to tempt her down that hallowed aisle.
He grimaced. “Well, I guess that’s something.”
“So I cannot convince you not to meet Wheaton?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then kiss me and make me forget about the vicious games for a few moments. Justin, make me forget….” She brushed her mouth across his velvety lips, willing him to understand how much he meant to her. His arms tightened around her and he parted his lips, claiming her mouth with gentle insistence. Those glorious hot chills infused her body from her hairline down to her toes. His tongue caressed her teeth, explored her mouth, and loved her tongue with such tender ardor it melted her heart. Justin Barclay tasted like the sweetest nectar of the gods, and she wanted to drink every drop he had to offer, for it would be over all too soon.
Evelyn could not recall the last time she’d ever felt so dreadfully alone. The world was crashing down around her ears and there was not a blessed thing she could do about it. Sully, Angel, and—her heart contracted—now Justin were all at the mercy of that vile monster, Wheaton.
She sat on her knees before the large bay window of her bedroom in Justin’s house, praying for the safe return of those she loved. It was all that was in her power to do. Staring off into the moonlit night through the billowing open drapes, she watched the stars flicker and the sliver of moon disappear behind the windswept clouds.
“I’ll never do this again,” she swore aloud. “I’ll go mad from all of this waiting.” Better to be out there, at risk with the others, than left behind. She whispered, “Better yet, all of us should be home asleep in our warm beds on a night like tonight.” Well, if her friends did not have that benefit, then neither would she.
A sense of foreboding overwhelmed her. “Please, dear Lord, please take care of those I love. And let Wheaton get exactly what he deserves.” She hoped her prayers would make some small measure of difference, for they could use all of the help they could get.
That night, the little boat rocked and swayed in the lapping waves of the foul-smelling Thames. Justin pulled his woolen cloak tighter around his shoulders and nodded for Señor Arolas to push him off.
Despite the half-moon perched in the starry sky and the low-lit lantern resting at the bottom of the boat, he could barely see past five paces in the gloom.
“Good luck, Barclay.” Señor Arolas waved as the craft drifted out into the torrent. “I’ll meet you at the far pier.”
Wheaton’s plan had been explicit and, just as Justin had expected, brilliant. He and the colonel were to meet midstream, exchange information, and float down to the next pier, where Justin would disembark to reveal the colonel’s demands. Wheaton had innumerable means of escape.
What the colonel had not counted on was Justin bringing along the passenger hunched over in the seat across from him in the rickety little boat. The lamp at his feet barely illuminated the old man’s thin, pallid face.
“How are you doing, sir?” Justin asked, worried for the frail gent.
“You’re the one who’s got to row this pile of wood, Barclay,” countered Sir Lee Devane. “I’m just taking a little moonlit cruise.”
Justin’s admiration for the elderly former master of spies had only increased since meeting with the man that afternoon. The old gent had taken the news of Wheaton’s betrayal hard, yet after an episode of mourning, he’d explored every avenue, sought out every fact as if sifting through glittering jewels, relishing each morsel for its significance. Justin could tell the man missed the spy trade enormously and, despite the abysmal circumstances, was ready to jump right back into the game.
The only fact that had seemed to unsettle the old fellow was learning that Wheaton had a grandson who was his namesake. “About six years old?” he had asked.
“Yes, sir,” Justin had replied. “What’s the implication?”
“I’d helped him get out of a tight spot about that time. I suppose it’s his way of saying thank you. After making it through that sordid mess, well, I’d never have thought he’d turn on his country.” The old gent had shaken his head. “It just does not add up.”
The muddied waters swirled around the hull of the little craft, high and rushing from the recent rains. Lights flickered in and out of view as they raced along, helped by Justin rowing on the long oars that had come with the borrowed craft.
“I see another boat,” claimed Devane in his craggy voice. “Two lamps, just as he’d said.”
Justin peered over his shoulder, spotting the other craft. He set the oars into their sockets and waited as the boat drifted downstream.
Two hulking figures draped in shadow hovered in the opposite boat.
“You were never very good at taking orders, Justin,” came a familiarly disdainful voice.
“I insisted, Wheaton,” Devane replied jauntily. “I felt the need for some fresh air.”
“Well, you can’t get any here, old man,” Wheaton retorted. “This river smells as if the whole of London pissed in it.”
The two boats bumped together with a resounding thud.
Helderby handed Justin a rope. “Tie us up.”
Justin would have liked to have tied up the bloody thug and his master and demanded some answers. Instead, he silently knotted the twine through a hook, binding the crafts.
Joined, the two boats drifted downstream in the speedy current. The water lapped loudly against the paired bows, banging them together. Helderby moved close, pitching the crafts. The lout smelled of ale and grime. He moved his beefy hands up and down Justin’s coat, searching for weapons, and then he checked Devane. He motioned to Wheaton and then sat on the far bench, watching them guardedly.
“Nice rendezvous point,” Devane commented as if they were at a ball. “From the Scarelli incident?”
“It was my inspiration,” Wheaton rejoined.
“Tell me what you want from Evelyn,” Justin growled, impatient with the games.
Devane sent Justin an admonishing look but added, “Yes, it seems that you are in need of something that only the lovely Miss Amherst can provide. Something about vengeance, I understand.”
“I’m only asking for what is rightfully mine,” Wheaton answered defensively.
“What do you believe you deserve?” his former mentor asked.
“You mean besides the gallows?” Justin murmured.
“How’d you like to be the one soon meeting your maker, Justin?” the colonel retorted. “It’s not a comfortable position, I can assure you.”
“Do you fear prosecution?” Devane asked, interest interlacing his question.
“The only thing I fear is not meeting my goals.”
“Which are?” Justin prompted.
“Amherst stole my wife, my knighthood, and my treasure. Since I cannot get the first two, I insist on the last. I deserve it.”
“What did you do to merit Diedra’s love?” Devane queried. “Or the king’s designation? What makes you believe you are that worthy?”
Even in the gloom, Justin could make out the redness infusing the colonel’s pale face. “If that bloody knave Amherst had never been born, it all would have been mine!”
The old gent shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Water under the bridge at this point, if you ask me.”
“Well, no one’s askin’ you!” retorted Helderby. “Enough chitchat, let’s get on with our business! We want the jewels!”
Wheaton sent a warning look to his hired dog. “I’ll do the talking, Helderby. You seem unable to communicate other than with your fists, which will lead us absolutely nowhere!”
The burly oaf grunted but kept his peace.
“I’d always suspected the sultan of Kanibar gave Amherst something special after the kidnapping episode—a fact I confirmed right before killing Amherst.”
Devane hissed, “How could you?”
“The man had plagued me for long enough; I was not about to let him have the final triumph and outlast me on this earth.” Wheaton grinned, and it was an ugly thing. “Besides, killing him had an added advantage; I found out about the magical necklace of Kanibar. It’s so powerful, it’s bloody legendary.”
“And where is this necklace?” Justin asked.
“That’s what I need you to find out. Amherst swore to the heavens that his daughter didn’t know anything about it. And Sullivan doesn’t seem to know anything either. But someone has to know how to get their hands on it, and I’m betting the chit can figure it out, even if she doesn’t think she knows where it is.”
Devane shifted in the seat, using his gold-topped cane for leverage. “I’m disgusted with your actions, Wheaton. Why would you risk everything for a piece of jewelry?”
Wheaton’s hands began to shake, and it looked as though he wanted to throttle his former mentor. “It’s so powerful, kings would start wars over it! I deserve it!”
“Evelyn didn’t deserve to have her life ripped apart over a bloody necklace!” To his horror, Justin’s voice had risen to a shout. “For a lousy piece of jewelry you perverted my allegiance to my country into a mockery!”
“Bloody sappy,” Helderby mumbled.
“Shut up, Helderby.” Wheaton scowled.
Justin was ready to jump the bastard, but Devane stopped him with his long cane. The old man shook his head.
The waves lapped loudly against the bows in the tense silence. After a long moment, the old gent eyed his former apprentice carefully, and then pushed himself up with his cane. The little crafts rocked with his every shuffle forward. “What’s really going on, Tristram?”
At that moment, Justin realized that he had never known his superior’s Christian name. He was so thankful he’d thought to bring along Devane.
Wheaton looked over at Helderby and then tottered closer to the other craft. He leaned near his former mentor. “I’m dying,” he murmured so softly that the echo was barely carried along in the muddy waters.
“And this is how you choose to go out?” Devane huffed. “Destroying a lifetime of exemplary service with murder and mayhem?”
Wheaton snarled but kept his peace.
The elder gent leaned on his cane, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Dear heavens, you’re cross because you wanted to meet your maker with a bullet or a poisonous dart or while safeguarding the king.”
The colonel hammered his fist into his chest. “You’re damned right I did! My bloody body betrayed me!”
“What’s wrong with you?” Justin asked, fascinated by the depths of this man’s diseased outlook.
He coughed. “Cancer. I even went to that new Cancer Hospital. The butcher of a surgeon wants to try to cut it out, but I’ll hire my own undertaker before I let him carve me open like a bloody turkey.”
“I can’t blame you there, given that few survive the surgery,” Devane agreed. “But to destroy everything in the name of settling up long-dead scores that are ill-founded at best…”
“It’s not just about old scores,” Wheaton replied defensively. “The necklace is supposed to be magical. I’ve done some research, and the thing’s been known to heal the sick….”
“You cannot believe that!” Devane scoffed.
“It’s not just about me. The bloody quacks have raked me through the coals, taken everything I own. I have nothing left to leave—”
“Ah, you mean to take care of Lee and Edwina and her brood?” the old gent charged.
“How—?” Wheaton’s shaking intensified. “You can’t hurt them! They have nothing!”
Devane waved his hand. “They have you. And if you’d have come to me I would have provided for them—”
“Enough with the damned chitchat already!” Helderby roared. “Give us the blasted necklace!” He pulled a pistol from under his dark cloak and aimed it at Justin’s chest. They were so close that even in the darkness Justin could discern the black hole of the barrel.
“Put that thing away, you idiot!” Wheaton jeered. “If he had it, we wouldn’t be meeting here in the first instance!”
“I’m tired of following your stupid plans! A whole lot of bloody nonsense from a useless dying bastard.” With a flick of his wrist, Helderby triggered the lever, and a shattering blast shot from the firearm. Wheaton flew backwards, crashing into the water with a titanic splash.
With lightning efficiency, Devane whipped his gold top from his cane and ripped a sword free. He swung it through the air with a hiss, cutting the rope connecting the two crafts. Justin quickly shoved the other boat away and snuffed out the lantern before Helderby had the chance to grab another pistol.
The lout stood in the rocking craft, screaming, “I’ll get that bloody bitch and her bleeding necklace! Don’t think you can protect her from me! I’ve still got those two blokes and I’m not afraid to kill ’em!” His figure faded into the darkness as he was swallowed by the gloom.
Gurgles could be heard from paces away, and Justin yanked the oars from their sockets and heaved toward the place where the colonel had fallen.
Devane leaned against the bow, searching for his former apprentice. “Tristram! Tristram!”
They scoured the vicinity vainly for what felt like hours, finally giving up after an exhaustive hunt.
Funereal silence pervaded the craft as Justin rowed them toward the pier, each splash of the oars like a hammer crashing into his heart. Sweat lined his brow and his underarms as he knifed the oars through the murky waters. His palms burned and his back ached, but it was the despair in his heart that caused his grief. He had accomplished little this night other than to unleash Helderby on Evelyn’s dearest friends.
“The poor sop thought he had it coming to him,” Devane commented.
“He had a lot more coming to him than a ball in his chest and a muddy death.”
The elderly gent eyed Justin with interest. “What do you believe he deserved?”
“To be stripped of his commission.” Lift, heave, drop. The water splashed. “Public trial. The gallows.” Lift, heave, drop. The water splashed.
“So the humiliation would be his retribution?”
“That and a swing in the hangman’s noose.”
“And what of Edwina Thomas and her brood? Should they be made to pay?”
Slicing the oars through the foul-smelling water, Justin shook his head. “They cannot help who they’re related to.”
“Yet Wheaton had Miss Amherst pay for her father’s supposed crimes.”
“Wheaton had cracked.”
The older gent nodded, sighing. “Diseased in mind, body, and spirit.”
“The man played me for a fool,” Justin cried bitterly. “I’m so bloody angry with myself for not seeing it sooner.”
“How could you have known?”
Guilt and anger fused together, making Justin see red. “My brother was sick in the mind. I, of all people, should’ve noticed the signs.” His hands tightened, and the rough wood bit into his palms. “For both of them.”
Devane leaned forward. “And what would you have done had you known?”
Justin shouted, rage making his aching arms shake with his exertions. “Something!”
“Ah, to believe so much in one’s own power. It’s a gift and a great burden.”
To Justin’s amazement the elder gentleman withdrew a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and raised it to his craggy eyes as tears spilled out the corners. “I loved that fool like a son. You don’t think that I’m blaming myself for not being there for him? For not helping him as he descended to his doom?”
“What could you have done?”
“Held his hand.” Devane sighed, a haunted look overwhelming his saddened eyes. “One thing I’ve learned in my long life, sometimes it’s just as important to simply be there when times are tough. It makes all the difference in the world.”