Following the light, they quietly crept down the stairs, toward the murmur of indistinct voices.
Magnus didn’t know who was waiting below. It might have been Hartley, the mysterious Mr. Dashing or anyone for that matter. But one thing was for certain, he wanted to get Verity away from there.
In order to do that, they would have to go through the office door and the main room without being seen.
Crouching down, they made it to the bank of smudged windows flanking the lower office door. In the lamplight that vacillated as the strangers walked, he could just make out two men—one was concealed by shadow, but the other had Hartley’s familiar build and blond hair.
Damn. He didn’t want Verity to witness the truth about her father. After all, it was a crushing blow to lose faith in a man you’ve looked up to. And he couldn’t bear to see her hurt.
Things had changed between them. Not just upstairs a moment ago, but a gradual change that had begun since that very first day. He could no longer deny the feelings he had for her. But they left him torn, nonetheless. And he didn’t know how to honor the duty to his family, and the duty to his heart. It seemed an insurmountable obstacle.
Wanting to shield her as long as possible, he turned her chin to face him and put a finger to his own lips. For once, she didn’t argue. When she nodded, he wondered if things had altered within her as well. Or perhaps it was merely the result of the fright she’d suffered upstairs. No matter the reason, he would protect her.
They moved quickly, but silently through the doorway and into the larger room, staying low. With the shadows concealing them, they were able to duck behind the first crate.
“So this is the London office and machine works? Not nearly as impressive as the last one I toured seven years ago,” Hartley said, his grand, resonant tone impossible to mistake.
Beside him, Verity shifted as if to stand, but he rested a hand on her shoulder, silently imploring her to keep out of sight. She rolled her eyes in acquiescence.
“That was Lord Underhill’s preference, as you know,” the other man said.
Magnus startled as he recognized the voice. Mr. Eugene. What was the engineer doing here? Why had he agreed to meet with Hartley? Unless . . . he was being recruited into playing a part in another scheme. But Magnus didn’t think the younger man would willingly fall into the same trap as before. He hoped he was right.
“Mmm,” Hartley murmured speculatively. “Though, I must say, it looks authentic with all these gears and tools lying about. And what’s this fancy gadget?”
“It’s a gauge to measure the gears.”
“Is that right? And here, I thought it was used for drafting.” He issued a self-deprecating chuckle. “My son has a sliding compass exactly like this at home. Then again, I’m not an engineer.”
Safely ensconced in shadows, Magnus peered over the edge of the crate and frowned. Hartley was correct. The object was for drafting, not engineering. He’d learned that from studying with Hawk. And, beside him, Verity shook her head, mirroring his own confusion.
“M-my mistake. The dim lighting is playing tricks on my eyes. That must have been accidentally dropped by one of the previous workers.”
“Of course. Any error would be easy to make in all this clutter”—Hartley issued a sweeping gesture of his arm as if on a stage—“with crates and bits of whatnot looking as though they were placed here randomly and scattered about without any real purpose. Additionally, I detect a bit of nerves in that stammer.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I was afraid to m-meet you. Lord Underhill told me about you, about how you orchestrated it all. I even think he w-was afraid of you. That’s the reason he didn’t s-say anything at his trial,” he said, taking a clumsy step back.
Magnus tensed and a sick feeling churned in his stomach.
Until that moment, he didn’t realize that he’d wanted Hartley to be innocent.
But more than that, he wanted him to be innocent for Verity’s sake.
He saw her brow furrow as she watched the spectacle and closed his hand over hers in reassurance. He’d given her a promise, and he’d meant it. They were in this together.
Then her father suddenly laughed, startling them both. It was a belly-full sound that rang up to the rafters. “I thought I’d recognized a kindred spirit. Silver tongues, the two of us. Though, I cannot believe it took me this long to figure it out.”
Eugene shifted from one foot to the other and adjusted the handle of his satchel. He was clearly nervous about the way Hartley was acting.
The baron began to pace in a strolling fashion and wagged his finger good-naturedly. “I must say, you’re very good. This mild-mannered milksop character is a crafty disguise. The crooked spectacles. The ink-stained fingers. Toss in a few stammers for effect, and I can see why my old friend was deceived. He was clever. But he never understood actors.”
“I d-don’t know what you mean.”
“Ah, go on and take your bow, man. You’ve played your part.” Hartley’s palms met in three hollow claps. Then stopped. “Unless, of course, you’re trying to impress an unseen audience. Your friend up there, for example?”
Both Magnus and Verity jolted, looking high up toward the rafters where he pointed.
A figure cloaked in shadow stood on a narrow platform, which might have resembled a catwalk above a stage if not for the ropes and pulleys rigged for lifting heavy machinery.
And Magnus hated to admit that he was somewhat confused.
Until Mr. Eugene drew a pistol from his valise.
Then everything became fatally clear.
Verity’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle her gasp. Magnus reflexively reached into his coat for his own pistol. His hand curved around the grip, his thumb resting on the crosshatched curve of the flintlock.
“So is your friend the one who orchestrated the scheme all those years ago? Or was it always just you whispering into Underhill’s ear? You who even took us on a tour of a foundry in Birmingham and offices in Bristol so that it was too real to be a work of fiction?” Hartley asked. “Because it certainly is not the lumbering brute you hired to follow me this evening. I assume you’re only using him as a last resort.”
A cold chill slithered down Magnus’s spine just as he heard hard footfalls closing in from behind. He hadn’t been paying attention. His primary concern was Hartley. And Verity.
He turned. But before he could withdraw his pistol, a beefy hand descended in a swoop and Verity was jerked upright on a shriek, kicking and clawing.
The brute rendered her flailing fists useless with a single arm locked across her body as he tethered her to his side. “Drop the pistol or I’ll snap ’er pretty neck.”
Magnus didn’t hesitate. He moved his finger away from the flintlock and lowered it to the ground. All the while, his gaze shifted to Verity, trying to reassure her. And yet, he’d never known true terror in his life until this moment.
“Let go of me, you big ox!” She lashed out again and again, but to no avail.
The brute, not bothered or inconvenienced in the least, carried Verity under his arm like a sack of potatoes as he grabbed the back of Magnus’s collar and cravat in a choking grip. The feel of those fingers along his nape were like the hide of an elephant. No wonder he wasn’t bothered by her scratching. He probably couldn’t feel it.
Shoved from behind, Magnus was marched past the crate to where Mr. Eugene stood, holding Hartley at gunpoint.
“Well, well, well,” Eugene said, casually folding his spectacles and slipping them into his pocket. Gone was his stammer and his obsequious manner, his disguise fading into the slashing shadows elongating his angular features. “It appears that neither of us came alone. Longhurst, this is an unfortunate surprise. But who is this charming hellion? A wayward doxy? No, her clothes are too fine. Longhurst’s mistress? Or, wait, I think I see a resemblance.” He tsked. “Hartley, did you bring your daughter to the docks? For shame. So many awful things can happen to a young woman when she’s in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“You think I look young?” Verity asked at the same time Magnus growled, “Touch her and you’ll die,” and the baron interjected, “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
Mr. Eugene tutted and shook his head. “Hartley, your prowess as an actor is slipping. I saw the fear in your eyes the instant she appeared. As for you, Your Grace, I thought you were days away from an heiress’s marriage noose. We have a bargain, after all. And I’d been told you were a man of such high morals that you would sooner die than break a promise or shirk your familial duty.” He heaved out a sigh. “But I guess we all have a price. And, apparently, Hartley’s little anonymous gifts have swayed you.”
Magnus kept his expression neutral, giving nothing away. And yet, as the statement filtered in through all the calculations he was making to disarm the brute and to free Verity while not getting shot by Eugene, he came to a startling realization.
Hartley was responsible for the peculiar banking errors in Magnus’s favor.
He didn’t know how he’d managed it, but he was fairly certain he knew why.
Right then, it didn’t matter. His primary focus was to see Verity to safety. And the only way to do that would be to distract Mr. Eugene long enough for Magnus to take the brute out of the equation.
“I don’t want anything to do with your blood money, Hartley!” he shouted, lurching forward with his arms outstretched, on the attack. The brute held fast to his collar, not letting him advance too far.
“It wasn’t like that,” Verity shouted. “He was only trying to set matters right for everyone. But he was never—”
“Hush, daughter. Longhurst is correct.” Hartley looked at Magnus, his gaze steady as he offered a nod. “I was trying to ease my own guilt. I took the money from the sale of my hunting box and lands to buy stocks. And when they began to earn a pretty penny, I started the payments . . .”
As Hartley continued to explain, he put more and more emphasis on the money, on the railroad stock climbing and climbing. A glance at the rapt attention from Mr. Eugene revealed that the old silver tongue was working its magic.
It was now or never.
Magnus took a step back. As the grip on his coat slackened, he shrugged out of the garment and turned swiftly, twisting the coat around the brute’s arm. Wasting no time, he raised his fist and punched the bully in the chin.
But on contact, pain juddered through his own knuckles to his wrist and down his arm. The brute barely staggered. But it was enough for Verity to wriggle free.
“Run,” he commanded.
But he was too late.
The instant she found her footing, Mr. Eugene pounced. Lunging forward, he hooked an arm around her throat. The barrel of the pistol pressed to her temple.
Magnus went still. So did Hartley. And behind them, the brute took them both out at the knees. He shoved them low like dogs with a brutal, biting grip on their napes.
Eugene clucked his tongue. “As I was saying—clever, but not quite clever enough.”
Magnus strained to lift his head to keep his gaze on Verity. She had her chin jutting out stubbornly.
He knew that look. He’d seen it the day she’d shoved him into the river. The I’m going to do something that you won’t like look.
He narrowed his eyes with warning. This was no time to play. His heart drummed in a deafening panic as he glanced down and saw the letter knife concealed in her grasp. It was no weapon fit for a man with a gun!
Damn it all! He had to do something!
Though, unless they all worked together, Verity could be shot. And he wouldn’t take that chance.
Thinking fast, Magnus said to Eugene, “Then, perhaps, you did not know what a good actor I am. In fact, I learned a good deal from the second act of Hartley’s latest production, A Mistake of Muses.”
His gaze briefly slid to Hartley and he received a nod of quick understanding.
As he continued, he reached back toward his boot. “You see, there was this man who thought he could come along and take what didn’t belong to him. He was defeated.”
“Don’t skim over the best part, lad,” Hartley interjected. “That was my shining moment.”
“I will admit that the choreography was excellent. However, my attention was snared by the third muse—”
“I don’t care about a stupid play!” Eugene railed. “I am going to take Miss Hartley out that door and drive away in my carriage. After a time, my colleagues will allow you to leave. But if you ever wish to see her again, you’ll deposit the £12,000 that I was promised into my account.”
Verity struggled against him, her face a purplish red from being choked. Lifting her free hand, she yanked down on his sleeve and drew in a gulp of air. “I am afraid you’re missing the point.”
And with that last word, she raised her other hand and drove the letter knife down toward Eugene’s thigh.
In the same instant, Magnus slipped the dirk from his boot, and drove it down into the brute’s foot, through leather, flesh and bone.
The man wailed and bent down to reach for the handle, just as Hartley reared up. With a mighty lurch like two rams squaring off, he struck the man’s head with his own.
The brute staggered back.
Two steps away, Eugene yelled as Verity reared back to clock him on the chin with the crown of her head. His choke hold went slack and she scrambled away, running toward her father.
Hartley was delivering a blow to the brute, keeping him down. Verity wasn’t going to let him finish. She tugged on her father’s arm, pulling him away to make their escape. And Magnus was right behind them . . .
Until he heard the cock of the pistol.
The sound stopped him in his tracks. Slowly, he turned around. “You only have one shot.”
“The way I see it,” Eugene said, his face contorted in a grimace of pain, “you are my only real obstacle now. Clearly, you won’t give me the money. But I’ll find another way. I always do. And I don’t need to kill a Hartley. Whatever they might say, no one will believe them. A duke, on the other hand . . .”
He raised his arm. The barrel aimed for the center of Magnus’s chest.
Hartley shouted. Verity screamed, “No!”
And then a shot rang out.