A Murder in Time (58 page)

Rebecca didn't know what to think as she hurried down the corridor, chaotic with departing guests. Thomas was the killer? How could that be possible? And now Kendra had disappeared, most likely gone to confront him. It was madness.

She skirted several trunks that had been packed and pushed out into the hall, awaiting footmen to load them onto carriages.

“Lady Rebecca!” Lady Atwood sailed toward her, looking irritable. “Have you seen the Duke? He should be here to see our guests off. 'Tis his duty.”

“He rode out to the hermit's shack.”

“Whatever for?”

Rebecca wondered what the countess would say if she told her that the ornamental hermit she'd hired was the murderer—probably swoon or go into hysterics. Either way, she couldn't deal with it now. “I haven't the faintest idea, your Ladyship,” she lied. “If you'll excuse me . . .”

Aware that Lady Atwood was staring after her in astonishment, Rebecca continued to hurry down the hall. As she rounded a corner, she collided with Gabriel.

“Oh, my. I beg your pardon!” she began, stepping back. Her eyes widened as she took in his appearance. She hadn't seen him for days, not since his shocking attack on Miss Donovan, but she was stunned by the change in him. His skin was pale, stretched tight across his cheekbones, and a dark stubble roughened his jaw. Purplish shadows made his eyes look even more sunken.

Concerned, she exclaimed, “Good heavens, Gabriel. Are you all right?”

He hesitated. “I . . . I need to speak to His Grace.”

“He's not here. He rode out with the others to see the hermit.”

“Thomas? Why?”

“Because he . . .” Rebecca shocked herself by bursting into tears. “Oh, dear!” She groped in her pocket for a handkerchief. “I beg your pardon! I'm overwrought. Miss Donovan . . . she's gone missing.”

“What?”

She dabbed at her eyes. “The hermit may have something to do with her disappearance. He may even be responsible for all the murders!”

“No.” If possible, Gabriel seemed to pale even more. “No, Thomas is his manservant . . .”

Rebecca lowered her handkerchief and stared at Gabriel. “I beg your pardon?”

He raked a shaking hand over his hair, disheveling it even more. “God. I've been a fool. A bloody fool.”

Rebecca was taken aback by the look in Gabriel's eyes: utter despair.

“If I had my wits about me, I might've saved the maid.”

“What are you saying, Gabriel?”

His mouth twisted. “Thomas isn't the monster. But I know who the monster is.”

Rebecca put a hand to her throat, felt her pulse leap beneath her fingertips. “
Who?
”

64

Kenneth Morland stepped into the room, and smiled at her. “You are not in your best looks, Miss Donovan.”

Her heart was hammering so loudly that it was a dull roar in her ears as she regarded that handsome face above hers, unable to quell the horror as she thought of how he'd raped, tortured, and strangled the others. Her predecessors.

How can I die now? I haven't even been born yet!
she thought wildly. She struggled for calm. “What happened to you, Morland?”

Her eyes followed him as he walked over to a table that held more than a dozen flickering candles. He lifted a fabric bundle, and unrolled it. Metal glimmered in the candlelight.

Knives.

Mouth dry, Kendra jerked her gaze away from the instruments.
Don't look at them. Don't think about it.
“Something to do with your mother,” she continued. “All the girls resembled your mother when she was younger . . . you know, before she went nuts, and everything.”

He turned to look at her, his expression more puzzled than angry. “You have such a peculiar way of speaking. I daresay it is because you are an American.”

“Nuts, as in crazy. Mad.
Cuckoo.
” Her blood turned to ice as she watched him pick up one knife, inspect it carefully, and then set it down. Then he picked up another knife, a bigger one.

Panic broke loose inside her, splintering her control. Even though she knew it was hopeless, she strained against the handcuffs, tried to pull the chains from the wall.

Morland glanced at her, amused. “You won't be able to get loose, Miss Donovan. You may as well accept your fate.”

Like hell.
Still, she stopped moving, concentrating on her breathing, trying to work past the terror that was filling her lungs. She seemed to be drowning in it.

Her feet and legs weren't restrained. Briefly, she fantasized about using her legs to snap his neck, like the femme fatales did in the movies. Unfortunately, the movies rarely reflected reality, and that maneuver was damned near impossible to accomplish. He'd have to be in exactly the right position. And even then, she'd only be able to disable him temporarily, probably not kill him. But it could buy her some time . . .

A small sound caught her attention.
Shit.
She'd forgotten about Thomas. Even if she had a chance with Morland, Thomas would intercede and finish her off. On the positive side, though, Thomas would kill her a lot quicker than Morland would.

“So . . . what's your problem with your mother? You've been figuratively killing her for years. Do you blame her for your father not being around?”

Morland stilled. He came over to look down at her again. But he was still too far away for her to do any damage.

His dark blue eyes had gone eerily flat. “My father
was
around, Miss Donovan.”

It was hard to keep her own eyes fixed on that soulless gaze. Shivers ran up and down her spine. “I thought your grandfather had him shipped off to India.”

“A clever invention.”

“But he . . .” Kendra drew in a sharp breath as an ugly possibility took shape. She closed her eyes, ashamed at all the details that she'd missed. Details right in front of her face. “
Adonis.
” She opened her eyes again. “She called you Adonis. And she called herself Myrrha . . .”

Morland watched her with that unblinking gaze, shark-like.

“My father was quite taken with Greek mythology. As was my mother.”

“Jesus Christ.” Kendra remembered the painted mural on the foyer's ceiling at Tinley Park. It was, she realized, the story of Myrrha, who'd been turned into a myrrh-tree after having committed incest with her father, King Cinyras. Nine months later, Adonis had been born from the tree.

She sometimes mistakes me for my father.
Morland had said that to explain his mother's confusion. Rebecca had talked about how the late earl had doted on him, enjoying their likeness.

“Your mother didn't elope with anyone. There was no infantryman.”

“They were forced to devise the story when she got herself with child. The world would have ostracized them both had they known the truth.” His lips twisted and the flatness of his gaze was replaced by a glow of rage. “Society, with all its bloody rules to force men to conform, to be something they are not.”

“Why do you hate your mother?”

“I do not hate my mother. She taught me, as her father taught her.”

“Taught you . . . ?” Something in his face alerted her, and she felt the bile rise up in her throat. Like abuse, incest could be a vicious cycle, replayed over and over again for each generation. “You sick son of a bitch. You really never stood a chance, did you?”

“Do not blaspheme me, Miss Donovan!”

“You're not God.”

“Oh, but I am. I am one of the gods. I am not blinded by the falsehoods of society. I understand power in its fullest sense, because I recognize no boundaries.” Now the glow in his eyes struck Kendra not as rage, but as madness.

He straightened suddenly, and ordered, “Thomas, come here.”

Thomas shuffled forward, eager to do Morland's bidding.

Morland smiled. “Thomas has been my most loyal manservant. We met during one of my hunting expeditions in London, before I had, shall we say, honed my craft. I was slitting the throat of a street whore when Thomas spotted me. We quickly discovered we had mutual interests. When Lady Atwood mentioned that she desired an ornamental hermit, I thought of my young friend here.”

Kendra said nothing. As long as he was talking, he wasn't slitting
her
throat.

“His help has been immeasurable in securing harlots. I formed a little club, invited a select group of disillusioned young bucks to join. It has been . . . amusing. My private joke on the Ton.” He laid a hand on the hermit's shoulder. “Except for April Duprey, Thomas has been my emissary with the bawds.”

Bawds.
It came to her then, that niggling sensation that had been bothering her for days.

“You knew,” she said slowly.

He lifted his brows. “I beg your pardon?”

“You knew April Duprey was a bawd. When we interviewed you, you identified her as a bawd—not a harlot, or any of the other slang you might have used to describe the prostitutes.”

Morland chuckled. “You are very clever, Miss Donovan. Of course, not clever enough or else you wouldn't be in this . . .
position
.”

He was still chuckling, still smiling, when he took a step back. Then he was no longer chuckling or smiling. A look of determination settled on his handsome face, and he raised his hand. Kendra caught the glint of the knife, before he brought it down in a swift left-to-right movement. It took only a fraction of a second to sever Thomas's common carotid artery.

Kendra gasped, instinctively turning her head. She felt the warm spray of blood across her face. In her mind's eye, she saw Thomas's surprised expression. Then his knees buckled and he folded like a discarded puppet—which, she supposed, was exactly what he was.

She nearly choked on the raw meat smell of blood in the room. She turned her head to watch Morland approach.

“Alas, Thomas has outlived his usefulness,” he said. “As you so adroitly pointed out, he is the only thing connecting me to the murders. And he had become so terribly careless.” Morland smiled, clucking his tongue. “Yes, I was eavesdropping, Miss Donovan. I know, I know, very ill-bred of me.”

Kendra was still stunned speechless by the unexpected display of violence when Morland lifted the knife that was dripping with Thomas's blood, and brought it plunging down toward her chest.

65

Gabriel leaned forward in the saddle, flicking the reins, riding hell for leather over the uneven terrain. The Arabian's hooves pounded against the ground, spitting up dirt. Each gallop felt like a spike was being driven into his skull. He wanted to vomit. He wanted a bloody
drink
.

He shuddered with relief when he entered the forest and was forced to pull on the reins, slowing the punishing pace as he got his bearings. His eyes darted around the thick copse with its ancient elm and oak, uncertain. He hadn't anticipated this. The times that he'd gone to the club, it had been dark and he'd already been well into his cups. And Thomas had guided them.

The horse shifted, impatient. Twigs snapped beneath the beast's hooves. Leaves rustled around him. Gabriel heard the sharp trill of a bird somewhere above him, answered from a neighboring branch. He touched his heels to the Arabian's flanks, moving slowly forward. He considered returning to the castle. Let Alec handle this situation. Who was he to play hero? But then he heard a faint noise in the other direction.
The stream.

He remembered the stream.

The horse gave a snort as he tugged at the reins, and wheeled the animal around.

Alec had never felt this kind of icy terror. His stomach roiled at the thought of Kendra in Thomas's clutches, as they rode into the courtyard a minute later. They'd organize a search party. They now knew
who
they were looking for, but not the where. And every second the monster held Kendra brought her closer to death.

Alec thought of the torture the other women had endured. He thought of the search that had been organized to find the maid, and how that ended.
Christ Almighty.

He brought his horse to a stop so abruptly that the poor beast reared up on his hind legs, then did a skittish sidestep. There was more activity than normal in the stable yard, with all the carriages being prepared for the departing guests. A stable boy rushed over to grab his reins as he swung down from the saddle.

The Duke and Sam rode into the stable yard as he pointed at one of the grooms. “You! Go and gather up men for another search! Thomas—”

“Alec!”

He broke off as Rebecca ran toward him. “Not now, Becca. Thomas has kidnapped Kendra! We need to find her!” He glared at the groom who was still standing, staring at him wide-eyed. “Goddamnit, I told you to gather the men! Move your arse!”

A murmur rippled across the stable yard. Several men began to approach.

“We need to organize another search party. Thomas is the fiend we've been looking for! He—”