All I Ever Needed (58 page)

Sophie could see no indication that she was heard, but she took it as a good sign that Abigail's restlessness subsided. She plumped the pillow at Abby's back, replaced the water glass, and stood. "Shall I go to the children?" she asked. "Will it give you peace to know they are both well?"

Except for a faint fluttering of her lashes, there was no response from Lady Dunsmore.

Sighing softly, Sophie made her decision. "I'll only be a moment." Until she was out of the room, Sophie did not realize how much she had desired to have some excuse to be so. No good memories were stirred by seeing Abigail in the same state as her father; the feelings of helplessness were as uncomfortable as they were unwelcome. Recognizing the need she had to do something, and understanding that she did it as much for herself as for Abigail, Sophie hurried down the hall toward the children's room.

The door opened before she touched the knob. Sophie did not have time to register either surprise or dismay. She was pulled into the room so quickly that there was no sense of how the thing came about. What she recognized was the fierce grip just above her elbow. Harold had always known exactly how to place his thumb and fingers to make her light-headed with pain. Quite against her will, Sophie felt her knees begin to buckle. Harold's shadowed features filled the center of her vision, while darkness clouded the periphery. She would have sagged all the way to the carpet if he had not pressed her back to the door.

"Do not alarm the children," Harold said quietly. "Do you understand?"

Sophie nodded because it was expected of her, not because she understood anything that was said. Harold blocked her view of the large bed. She could not see if Robert and Esme were still sleeping or if Harold had already roused them.

Harold eased his grip and helped Sophie regain her balance. "I watched Eastlyn and his friends leave," he said. "You can expect no help from them, Sophie, and you cannot expect to fool me into thinking otherwise. I have come for my wife's diary and my ledger. I have it on good authority that Eastlyn took them."

Sophie did not answer. She strained to see past Harold, rising on tiptoes.

"Robert and Esme are fine," Harold told her, pulling her attention toward him again. "And will remain so. I know you have no good opinion of me, but I am not such a monster that I would hurt my own children."

"Then let us leave this room," Sophie said. When he didn't move, she added, "What you want is not here."

He hesitated and then nodded once.

When he stepped back, Sophie had a glimpse of the children sitting on the edge of the bed. It was enough for her to see that they both were more sleepy than frightened. "Let me tuck them in. It will only take a moment."

"A moment," he said.

Sophie went to the bedside and helped the children back under the covers. Esme curled against her brother and closed her eyes at once. Robert was less confident that all was as it should be.

"He told me to let him in," Robert whispered.

Sophie recognized that it was at once an explanation and a question. The boy needed reassurance that he had done nothing wrong. "Of course you should have done so. I would have done exactly the same thing if I had heard him. You must have very good ears, indeed."

Robert smiled sleepily. "I think I must. He told me he was not scratching at my window very long."

Behind her, Sophie felt Harold's approach. She bent, kissed Robert's forehead, and then rose. "He wanted to say his prayers," she told Harold. Giving him no opportunity to challenge her, Sophie turned her back on him and quickly left the room. He had no choice but to follow her into the hallway. She had gone only a few steps before he brought her up short. Sophie closed her eyes briefly against the pain. The placement of his fingers was precise. She knew there would not be more bruises, only deeper ones.

"You are mistaken if you think I am intent on running from you," she said tightly. "I am only of a mind to give you what you came for and then to see the last of you."

Harold studied Sophie's face for a moment in the candlelight and wondered if he could believe her. He permitted his grip to relax a fraction. "Show me."

Sophie didn't take a forward step until he released her. When his hand dropped away, she led him downstairs, glancing once toward the front door as they passed through the entrance hall.

Harold merely shook his head when he saw the direction of her gaze. "I suppose you think it would have been better if I had not come at all."

Sophie shrugged. "I cannot say if it would have been better. It seems to me that you are taking a great risk by doing so."

He had only half an ear for her words. Her steps had slowed, and it was this that caught his attention. "What is it?"

"I am uncertain of the location of Eastlyn's library," she said. "I have not been in his home before this evening, Harold. I do not yet know my way through the rooms, or even if we will find what you want there."

Harold eyed her narrowly, trying to discern if there was a lie. He gave her full marks for not denying that she knew of the existence of Abigail's journal and his account book, or that Eastlyn had taken them, but this hesitation of hers now made him suspicious. "I have little in the way of patience remaining, Sophie. You would do well to begin searching."

Her chin came up. "And if I don't, Harold? What is it you will do? Can I expect the same as Mrs. Sawyer?" She saw his mouth tighten at the corners. "Though I suppose you would prefer to poison me as you did my father and your wife, there is insufficient time for such methods. It shall have to be a quicker end for me. East would give no details regarding your mistress's death. Did you strangle her?" She glanced down at her arm, then back at Dunsmore. "It is easy for me to imagine. I think there were many times when you took me by the arm that you wished it was my neck."

Harold did not respond. He reached past Sophie, opened the door behind her, and motioned to her to step inside. After removing a lighted candle from one of the sconces in the hallway, he followed. Even without the candle he would have known he was in Eastlyn's private study. He recognized the fragrances distinctive to leather bindings and rare books, the hint of tobacco smoke and port. "You have brought me to it straightaway," he said.

"It seems I have. I did not realize there would be so many. I do not know how you will take them all."

At first he did not understand what she meant, for it seemed odd to him that she would remark on the number of volumes Eastlyn had collected for his town library. It was only when he turned slightly and followed her gaze that he realized she had not been surveying the floor-to-ceiling shelves lining the room. Her attention was on the pyramid of wooden crates stacked beside the fireplace; at the apex they towered above the marble mantel.

Harold brushed past Sophie and held out his candle. The crates were stamped with Eastlyn's Everly Square address, the contents clearly marked as books. He asked the question, not because he did not know the answer, but because he required hearing the answer to believe it. "What books are these, Sophie?"

"The ones you came for," she said with perfect calm. "Abigail's journal and your ledger of accounts. The Society's ledgers as well, though you did not ask for them. Scores and scores of each, I imagine. I shall leave you to them, Harold."

Dunsmore spun around and made to lunge at Sophie. She eluded him, in part because she was prepared for just such a predictable end, but also because Eastlyn's presence on the threshold of the library made Harold falter, and then go rigid with surprise.

East held out his hand to Sophie, pulling her toward him quickly when she accepted it. He moved to one side in the doorway, allowing her to pass before pressing her to stay just behind him. He noticed she had some objection to this position, perhaps because she was thinking he was arriving rather late to the rescue. "Did you believe for even a moment that I was not nearby?" he asked.

"Robert told me he let you in," she said. "Could you not use the front door? You might have frightened the children."

"Your cousin was watching the front of the house."

"I saw you leave." It was Dunsmore who spoke, not Sophie.

Eastlyn shrugged. "I know. West glimpsed you as he was mounting his animal. One can be too furtive, you know, and that was your mistake. West has a remarkable eye for what is out of place. You should have fled to Liverpool, Dunsmore. There would have been a few hours reprieve in it for you. It occurred to me that you might come for your books, but I could not depend upon it. Mrs. Sawyer told you I had them?"

Dunsmore nodded vaguely as he tried to take in what Eastlyn was telling him. Light flickered across his features as the candle in his hand wavered.

"She also told you about the invitations that Prinny extended to certain members of the Society," East said.

This time Dunsmore found his voice. "Yes."

East wished it had been otherwise, and something of his regret showed on his face. "I intended that she should know about your ledger," he said. "And Lady Dunsmore's journal, of course. Then, if she chose to remain under your protection, she would at least know the nature of the man who was keeping her."

"You knew that she would tell me," Dunsmore said. "You wanted her to."

"I hoped she would," East admitted. "But I did not consider that she would learn about the invitations to Windsor Castle. I knew the danger of giving her too much information. Was she cuckolding you, Dunsmore? Is that how she came to know about the Prince Regent's invitations?"

Dunsmore's expression turned scornful. "She had Barlough in her bed. And Pendrake. Both of them while she was under my protection. It never occurred to her that I would realize the truth when she told me about their invitations. Her protestations aside, I knew immediately how she had come by this latest
on dit."
His short bark of laughter held no humor. "Poor Annette. It was impossible for her to suspect that she was being manipulated. Barlough and Pendrake went to her bed to take a pound of
my
flesh, not hers. She was so naive."

In that one regard, perhaps she was, East thought. "Was she leaving you for one of them?" he asked.

"For Barlough or Pendrake? No. She was leaving me, though you should not imagine I was made jealous by that. She was a whore, after all. No better than she ought to be."

"The bargain you struck with her was for her protection. She did not deserve to die."

"She wanted more of everything. Money. Power. Standing. There was no reasoning with her. I did not know about these books then, Eastlyn, and obviously, neither did she. I might have spared her had I understood that silencing her would accomplish nothing. I still thought if I could collect my books and go, things might once again be turned in my favor." Raising his candle, he gestured toward the pyramid of crates. "A pity they cannot easily be burned. There are more elsewhere, I collect."

"Many more."

He nodded "A pity. It is not your intention to exact a fortune from me, then."

"No. Nor from anyone in the Society."

"I see." Harold looked past Eastlyn to where Sophie stood. Though her complexion was pale, she remained maddeningly composed. "I am still your family, Sophie. Have you considered that? Robert. Esme. Even Abigail. All of them will come to hate you when they learn of your part in this. They will be stained forever if these books become fodder for the public."

"If they come to bear me ill will," she said evenly, "then I hope that in time they will also come to forgive me. I can ask no more of them than that."

"And what of me, Sophie? What is to become of me?"

Eastlyn shook his head, drawing Dunsmore's eyes to him. "She has no part in that decision."

"Then it is to be you? What satisfaction will you demand? Pistols? I have heard it remarked upon that you have quite a steady hand."

"No. I am of no mind to shoot you, though there would be some pleasure in it. But as you said, you are still Sophie's family, and she is my wife." East noted that Dunsmore did credibly well masking his surprise; it was only the rapid blinking of his eyes that gave him away. "That makes you a member of my family as well," East said. "Therefore, you are quite free to go. There is satisfaction enough for me in knowing how popular these books will become."

For a moment Dunsmore could not believe his good fortune; the pressure in his chest actually eased. It was when he caught the cutting edge of East's tempered smile that the full impact of what had been planned was borne home. As quickly as that, he could no longer draw a complete breath. "They will kill me," he whispered hoarsely. "The Bishops will kill me. You cannot make me leave. Where will I go?"

"I cannot say what they will do, or where you will go, or even how far you will get, but I
can
make you leave. My friends are prepared to help if called upon to do so. I would be remiss if I did not mention they were in favor of shooting you." He gave Sophie a sideways glance. "Will you open the front door?"

Nodding, she ducked from under Eastlyn's protective arm and slipped away.

Panicked now, Dunsmore actually stumbled backward as Eastlyn made to seize him. A plump dollop of hot candle wax fell on the ball of his thumb. Unprepared for the flash of pain, he reflexively jerked his hand toward his chest. The movement extinguished the flame. Darkness gave him a moment's respite, and he dived for cover behind where he imagined the crates to be. He missed his mark by only a few inches, but it was enough to throw his shoulder into one of the sharp corners. The pyramid groaned, shifted, and the hasty construction of this monument to his avarice did not hold. The crates were pushed wildly askew by his weight and momentum.