All Men Are Rogues (20 page)

Justin raced to the concealed exit. “Bloody hell!” He ducked his head and charged through.

“Justin!” With her heart in her throat she ran after him, into the darkest pitch. Something crashed into her head with a horrible crack. Pain pummeled her skull, stars shimmered in her eyes, and then all went black.

V
oices whispered in the darkness, but Evelyn had no wish to leave the safety of her comfortable cocoon. She inched deeper into her slumber, ignoring the world that pressed against the invisible wall of her cozy sanctuary. To her chagrin, her senses slowly rose to wakefulness anyhow.

The sharp scents of spirit of turpentine and camphor teased her nose, making her cognizant of the fact that someone had been diligently cleaning against bedbugs. She shifted slightly under the soft blanket; how she loved a firm wool mattress. The silky smooth sheets under her palms brought understanding that this was a fancy establishment indeed. Her brow furrowed. Was she indebted to Angel even more for yet another night in an expensive inn?

But what were whispering strangers doing in her leased room? And why did her head ache as if a seaman had used it to crack open a drum?

“My lord, she wakes!”

Heavens, did he have to bellow? Her head pounded horrifically and her ears rang. This was not fancy hostelry. She was in a luxurious bedchamber with strange servants scrambling about. She heard soft footfalls on thick carpeting and felt a presence standing near.

Excitement bubbled in her middle, blended with no small sense of relief. She’d know that woodsy, masculine scent anywhere. Still, her warm feelings were tinged with fury. Justin had betrayed her, had he not? Or had he saved her? Her muddled brain was having trouble discerning between fact and wishful thinking.

She pried open her eyes. Her vision was filled with the familiar features of the handsome man who was at the center of her confusion. Swallowing, she took her fill of his striking good looks; the dimpled chin, pursed smooth lips, sharp, high cheekbones, and smoky gray-green eyes. A thin fuzz of golden hair blanketed his chin, and black circles shadowed his worried eyes. The way he watched her apprehensively, as if fearful of her reaction to him, brought to the fore the mishmash of her emotions.

She cleared her throat. “Ah, what happened?”

He spoke quietly in his succinct, cultured voice. “The colonel had traps set. The first one trounced me.” He raised his leg and showed her the ivory bandage that had been out of view. “And you, regrettably, succumbed to the second.”

The confrontation in the drawing room rushed back to her. Justin had shot at his superior, had placed himself on the line, to help her. Why would he do such a thing if he had been the one who had arranged her capture? She recalled the colonel’s words,
“…the very cooperative vicar.”
So Justin had been true all along. The certainty hit home, and deep in her heart a little voice gave a cry of joy.

She raised her hand to her throbbing head. “What hit me, an anvil?”

“A useless cannonball.”

“So that’s the explosion resounding in my head.” She shifted up slowly. “Obviously he found a use for it.”

“A bloody nasty use,” Justin mumbled under his breath as he gently helped her sit up. Even through the fog of her pain she was aware of his masculine strength and the power of his attraction. He called to every feminine instinct within her.

Clearing his throat, he offered, “You gave us quite a scare. You’ve been unconscious for some time.”

She quibbled, “I was due for a holiday.”

“Not one from life, I presume,” he replied somberly.

Motioning to a hovering servant, Justin accepted a steaming mug and passed it to her. Herbs floated in the warm greenish-yellow liquid. Evelyn sniffed. Chamomile, mint, lemon, among other things.

“I cannot afford to be beef-brained,” she said as she handed back the cup. “There’s too much left to do.”

“But you’re in pain,” Justin countered.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Straightening her shoulders, she repressed a wince. “We need to find Angel and Sully.”

He grimaced. “I’ve searched every safe house in London, without finding a trace of either of them.”

“On that?” She pointed to his injured foot.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he echoed back grimly.

She let out a long breath.
So Justin was The Real Scratch
. She could not quite face her combustion of emotions, so she pushed them aside for examination later. Sully and Angel came first. “Then we will just have to search the entire country. Whatever it takes to find them.”

“Oh, I hope we don’t have to travel by coach,” came a familiar lilting Spanish accent from the doorway. “My back is aching from that nasty trip from Wellington’s camp.”

“Señor Arolas!” Evelyn exclaimed, but razor-sharp pain pierced her temple from her own loud voice. She lifted her hand to her throbbing head but smiled through the ache. “Here come the Titans!”

“Don’t think I can save the world, Evelyn. I was little enough help to your father.” The elegant older gentleman sauntered into the room, a scowl marring his handsome features. He was an older version of Angel, but with curly silver hair instead of black and at least two stones heavier than his son. Still, he had that same darkly attractive countenance and catlike grace, which made Evelyn miss Angel even more.

“I came as fast as I could.”

“How did you know, Señor?” she asked.

“I contacted him.” Justin hobbled forward with his hand extended. “Señor Arolas, I’m so glad you could come. We’re in the Briers and need all the help we can get.”

The men shook hands. “So Wheaton has Angel?”

Justin blinked. “How did you—?”

The older gentleman shrugged. “I have my sources. And I can tell you this, Angel is not involved in any French plot.”

“I’ve come to the inevitable conclusion that the French conspiracy is nothing more than a subterfuge to give Wheaton access to Evelyn, Sully, and whatever it is he’s after.”

“The scalawag does not appear to worry overmuch about the authorities,” Evelyn pointed out. “Why did he even bother with the ruse?”

“The old double shuffle,” Justin replied. “With everyone loyal chasing the wrong target, he pursues his own with impunity.” His gaze turned bitter. “I can’t believe what a cat’s-paw I’ve been!”

“You thought you were saving your country,” she commented. “Besides, if you hadn’t been involved, Wheaton would have had my hide by now.”

Señor Arolas rubbed his chin. “So you were the infiltrator, my lord?”

“Yes.”

“A logical plan, given the family connection and your role with the Foreign Office.”

“How do you know so much about me?” Justin questioned.

“I asked a friend.”

The scope of Señor Arolas’s influence hit home; the only friend with that kind of knowledge could be Wellington himself.

Silence enveloped the elegant chamber. A servant slipped a chair behind each man, and they sat by Evelyn’s bedside.

“So what happened to the plan?” Señor Arolas adjusted his legs before him. Even in this odd situation, Evelyn had to admire the fine cut of his elegant clothes and his graceful manner. The men in the Arolas family had incredible flair.

Justin’s style was quite different, but somehow equally appealing. Wincing, he adjusted his injured foot. “The trap worked. Wheaton captured Sully but apparently did not get what he wanted. So he went after Evelyn.”

“And got my son.” Señor Arolas scowled. “So what does the fiend want?”

“I don’t know,” Justin admitted.

“Vengeance,” Evelyn whispered. “He killed my father.” The coldness in her voice surprised even her.

Señor Arolas’s features darkened. “Now he’s got a double debt to pay for abducting my son.”

“He believes that Father stole from him.”

“Stole what?”

She bit her lip, trying to remember what the knave had said. “His wife, my mother. Ah, his knighthood and…some sort of treasure.”

“What kind of treasure?” Justin leaned forward eagerly.

She slowly shook her head.

“So he was the one,” Señor Arolas spoke softly.

That really got her attention. “What are you talking about, Señor?”

Arolas cleared his throat. “Your father had confided in me, and, well, at this point, you are old enough to learn the truth without it devastating you.”

She swallowed. “What is it?”

“A diplomat’s life can be difficult, especially on one’s family.” Guilt flashed through his cocoa brown eyes. “We do it for our country and, let’s be honest, for ourselves. But it means sacrifice.” He shrugged. “Phillip knew Diedra was not happy; still, he was distraught when she confessed to having had an affair.” He watched her closely, surmising, “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’ve always suspected she had been untrue to Father. Even at a young age, one hears things not meant for tender ears. Odd as it may sound, part of me had felt glad she’d found some happiness in her life, the rest of me could never forgive her for causing my father so much pain.” Her lips curled in disgust. “I’m just appalled that she chose to flout her marriage vows with such a loathsome villain.”

“Apparently they had been childhood friends and had almost married,” Señor Arolas explained. “Evidently Wheaton pursued her for years after she wed, intent on winning her back. I don’t know exactly when the affair occurred, but she ended it, too overwhelmed by guilt.”

“Probably regained her sanity,” Evelyn retorted.

Justin shook his head. “If she ended the affair years ago and your father was knighted many years back, then why did Wheaton kill your father now? And why is he coming after you?”

“Even though you have a splendidly diabolical intellect,” Evelyn commented dryly, “you cannot try to decipher the mind of a madman.” His eyes locked with hers, and she suddenly realized what she’d said. Her cheeks heated as a sense of horror overwhelmed her. She prayed he could not believe that she’d ever compare him to his disturbed brother!

His lips slowly lifted into a grin that flooded his eyes with radiance. The affection she saw in his gaze made her hollow stomach flip over, and caused her to long to melt in the embers of his smoldering greenish-gray eyes.

Señor Arolas coughed into his hand, breaking the spell. “So, ah, I understand that Angel was captured at a church. What exactly were you doing at a church at five o’clock in the morning?”

“Evelyn and I were about to be married,” Justin supplied, watching her carefully.

Señor Arolas sputtered, “You must be jesting! Evelyn’s sworn since she was eight years old that she’d never marry.”

She blinked as insight flashed through her mind. “I remember Mother and Father having a terrible row when we were in Italy. Mother had just returned from an excursion to London. I must’ve been about eight years old.” She felt as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes. A mourning veil. “That certainly explains a lot.”

“But you must have changed your mind about marriage, given you were about to wed.” Señor Arolas nodded approvingly.

“The warrant was for my kidnapping,” Justin supplied. “If we were married…”

“She could not be charged.” Señor Arolas seemed disappointed. “But obviously the man no longer needs the cloak of his office to conduct his illicit dealings.”

“Apparently he’s growing more desperate,” Justin concluded. “Which means that Angel and Sully are in ever more danger.”

Evelyn fisted her hands. “What can we do?”

Señor Arolas rubbed his chin, looking off into the distance. “Give him what he wants.”

“What?” Evelyn shrieked, leaning forward so quickly that her head felt like someone had ripped it open. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that bastard win.”

Justin shook his head, resolution lighting his eyes. “Señor Arolas has not yet explained what we will do to Wheaton once we’ve given him what he wants and he’s given us Angel and Sully.”

“Oh.” She leaned back. “How do we give him what he wants when we don’t know what it is?”

“We ask him,” Señor Arolas stated quietly. “I might not be a Titan, but this old Spaniard still has a few tricks up his sleeve.”

E
velyn stared up at the dilapidated dwelling that looked exactly like every other one of the squat row houses on the grimy street, marveling that her refined mother could have come from such humble beginnings. Well, her mother was not exactly turning out to be the angel she remembered.

“Are you certain you wish to do this, Evelyn?” Justin asked, standing by her side, eyeing the residence askance.

“My wishes seem to have little enough to do with reality these days,” she replied, squaring her shoulders.

His fine carriage horses nickered and shifted in the narrow street, and the contrast between Justin’s fancy team and the neighborhood was not lost on anyone in the vicinity. The coach probably cost more than leasing the entire block for the year. Hard-faced working men and women scurried past, eyes aimed to the ground.

“I’m being serious, Evelyn.”

She let out a long breath. “Wheaton will not have seen the notice in the papers as of yet, and so we have time on our hands until he responds. Ismet and Shah are Lord knows where….” She sent him a plucky little smile, when she was feeling anything but. “We need to find out more about Wheaton and what he wants, and this seems the best way to do it. You’re the razor-sharp thinker; don’t you agree?”

“I can question the residents. You wouldn’t stay at home, but you can at least wait in the carriage….”

“For the hundredth time, Justin, I appreciate your concern, but you can stop worrying about my feelings. I don’t believe I can learn anything more disillusioning about my mother than that she tumbled with a murderer.”

He grabbed her arms and made her face him. His brilliant eyes shimmered with concern. “No one can deny you’re made of sturdy stuff, Evelyn. But why torture yourself?”

She raised her gloved hand to that dear face. “I need to do this, Justin. I need to take action, do something to help my friends.”

He watched her with a glowingly affectionate gaze that sent shivers coursing from her hairline to her toes. Ever since he had come to her rescue and she was finally free from doubt, her feelings were solidly in line with her physical reactions to the magnificent man. It was all a bit overwhelming, to say the least. She had no time for facing all of the feelings wrapped up inside of her, just aching to break free. And it was too much to hope that she ever would.

“Very well,” he murmured. He gave her arms a final squeeze for support and released her. Although it was what she had wanted, she suddenly missed his touch.

They faced the washed-out door that had once been white but now was a scratched shade of gray. Justin led her forward. Remarkably, he walked with only a slight limp.

The liveried footman raised a gloved hand and knocked. They waited a few long moments, staring at the colorless wood.

“Someone is definitely home, my lord,” the footman offered as he stepped aside. “I saw a face in the upstairs window.”

Finally they could hear a shuffle of feet and a bolt being shifted. The door opened a crack, and a brown-haired, mop-topped woman peered out. “Lawd in heaven, yer the spittin image of yer mother, may she rest in peace.”

The door creaked open wider, and a plump, dowdy woman in a soiled apron stepped aside to allow them to enter. “Welcome, welcome.”

Silently, they walked inside.

Evelyn blinked in the sudden gloom. The quarters smelled of cooked leeks and beer. Its low ceiling gave one a sense of enclosure, but otherwise, it was clean enough, with a family room entry, kitchen, and additional rooms toward the rear.

The woman rubbed her chubby hands nervously on her apron. She was platter-faced, with deep-set eyes, round, rosy cheeks, a button nose, reedy lips, and no evidence of chin. “I’m Dora. Dora Plum. You probably don’t remember me, I was yer mother’s maid her last year.”

A faint memory whispered on the edges of Evelyn’s vision. “I believe I recollect you being with us, but it’s a bit hazy. I’m sorry.”

The woman kept running her hands on her grubby apron. “Well, you were quite young, and you stuck to yer father pretty well, and that man of his.”

“Sullivan?” Justin asked.

She nodded and bit her lip, her worried brown eyes flashing to them and then away again.

Evelyn hoped to ease her concerns. “As you’ve already surmised, I’m Evelyn Amherst, and this is Lord Barclay.”

“Yer father always said you’d be back and that I was to give you the run of the place.”

Evelyn’s brow furrowed. “Why would he say such a thing?”

The woman waved toward the ramshackle furnishings in the family room. “Have a seat. I’d take the brown chair if I were you, my lord. It’s the sturdiest.”

Even though Evelyn would have liked for him to rest his injured foot, Justin seated her in the brown chair and stood behind her. “Thank you, but I’ll stand.”

Evelyn eyed him disapprovingly but dismissed the notion of being a mother hen for the moment. “Please tell me what else my father said, Mrs. Plum.” She leaned forward, fascinated by this glimpse into her background and anxious for a morsel of connection to her father.

The woman’s ruddy cheeks blushed pink. “I never married.”

“My mistake, Miss Plum.”

She patted her mousy hair. “Not a problem. I always knew a man wouldn’t be takin’ me for a wife, but I do fine well enough, thanks to yer father.” Her worried brown eyes suddenly flashed to Evelyn’s black gown, and she sputtered, “Dear Lawd in heaven, don’t say it’s true.” She shook her head and sniffed. “I’d wondered why you’d come, and now I know.”

She yanked out a cloth from under her apron and sniffled into the rag. “He was a good man. Set me up when he didn’t owe me a thing. I’d only worked for yer family for a year or so. He was a blessed soul.” She began to bawl, and to Evelyn’s dismay, started to bellow uncontrollably. Her howls and moans reverberated through the small parlor.

Concerned, Evelyn leaned forward. “Can I get you something, Miss Plum?”

The bawling intensified as Miss Plum waved her off, bellowing even louder, “Oh, yer just like him. Good, fine, decent, kindhearted….”

Justin spoke softly, “We’re here simply to find out more about Mrs. Amherst and the neighbor next door. We’ve no interest in turning you out.”

The bawling ceased abruptly, and those beady eyes watched them warily. “No fooling?” She blew another sniff into her hankie for good measure.

Realization dawned, and Evelyn felt like a pudding-head.

“Do we look like we’re ready to move in?” he quibbled in a soft voice, without a shred of disdain.

Evelyn asked, “What was your arrangement with my father?”

The rag promptly found its way back under Miss Plum’s soiled apron. “When he gave me the lease for life, he made me promise three things,” she replied in a tone that was coolly composed once more.

She ticked off the items on her stubby fingers. “First, keep the place up for him, which I was glad to do. I was never a lagabout. Also I was supposed to inform him ‘posthaste’ if anything happened to the place. Even the smallest things he wanted to know.”

Miss Plum nodded solemnly. “I have to say, when I asked if my mother could come live with me in her last days, he was most accommodating. And then when I let him know that she’d died, well, he posted the nicest letter and sent a little something to help with the funeral expense. I had Rector Arnold read it to me, and even he said it was one of the finest condolences he’d ever come across. He even took some of the words for his sermon that week.”

She leaned forward conspiringly. “T’be honest, I keep hearing those words in most of his sermons since. But, getting back to it, the final thing was that if you ever come back, and he said you would, I was to give you anything you wanted and give you the run of the place.” She stood. “Whew. I don’t remember the last time I said so much at one time. I need a nip. You want anything?”

Evelyn blinked. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

“Did Sir Amherst give any indication of what Evelyn might want upon her return?” Justin asked quietly, judiciously eyeing the room and its environs.

“Not really, although I figured she might want to see the memorial for her mother. Lovely notion, to have a tribute for eternity.” She shook her head. “Now, there was a love-match if I ever saw one.”

Justin sent Evelyn a meaningful look, and she rose. “Would you show us, please?”

Nodding, the stocky woman led them to the back threshold, through the tidy kitchen and out the rear door to the miniature square of dirt that was considered a back garden. In the corner in the ground by the weather-beaten wooden fence was a rectangular marble headstone, not more than a hand span across and high.

Evelyn peered down and read aloud the inscription on the gray stone, “And the gods rained teardrops of splendor from the heavens, yet wept for your burden, my darling. I love you, always.” A swell of sadness built in her chest, threatening to bring her own mortal tears. Her father should have been a bard.

Justin coiled his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side. The solid warmth of his body and his caring comfort gave her a wholly different sense of belonging. She did not belong at this dwelling. She might not belong to this country, but part of her had found a little pocket of space inside Justin’s heart, and that was a place she yearned to call home.

She gently unwrapped his arm. Hope was something she had to distrust, for with it came heartache. She cleared her throat and faced the portly woman. “What can you tell us about the neighbors, Miss Plum?”

Miss Plum waved to the matching square of dirt in the adjacent yard. In contrast to Miss Plum’s neat garden, it was littered with refuse and scarred with castoffs.

Scowling, Miss Plum shook her head. “It’s a cryin’ shame to have such a mopsie with wee children. Why, she has a brood of four, each with a different pa.” She scratched her mousy brown hair. “Rector Arnold’s been trying to help her, but the wanton is set in her ways.”

“Actually, we are interested in learning about one of the prior tenants, Miss Plum,” Justin interjected. “Mr. Wheaton.”

“Oh, him? He was a nice boy and he grew up to be a decent landlord. Too decent, if you ask me. I can’t believe how he allows that light-heeled woman to stay next door. She can’t possibly meet the rent, seeing as how she don’t work a decent job and she can’t seem to keep a man around long enough to do things right. Wheaton should set her out on her bottom.”

Evelyn could not keep the tinge of irritation from creeping into her voice as she asked, “If he set her out, wouldn’t that mean four young children would be on the street as well?”

Miss Plum blinked and her round cheeks went pink, as if she suddenly realized that she might find herself out on that same street if others shared her ungenerous attitude.

“Can you tell us anything more about Mr. Wheaton, Miss Plum?” Justin asked coolly.

Evelyn knew him well enough to discern his impatience with the woman, but he managed to put business first, and she would follow his example. “Yes, have you seen him recently?”

Eyeing them warily, she said, “He comes around every couple of months. To collect the rents, I’m sure. I’ve passed him on the street a few times and he always says good day. He’s never forgotten where he came from, that one, even though he’s bettered himself, by the look of it. I heard he’s a military man.”

“Did my father ever mention him?”

“Not that I recollect.”

Sighing, Evelyn stared down at the memorial to her mother and realized that it was positioned in the far corner of the garden so that the inhabitants of the neighboring house could not see it. She wondered if Father had done that on purpose, for the tribute to be his alone, untainted by the memory of the deceitful cad next door. She turned away, suddenly feeling unclean. She did not want to know more about her mother’s faithlessness, nor did she want to explore Wheaton’s villainy. She just wanted peace for herself and her loved ones.

That thought brought Angel and Sully back to the fore and resolve flooded through her, more potent than any tidal wave. “You were right, my lord, this is not a good use of our time. Good day, Miss Plum. Thank you for being so gracious.” She hoped the woman took the hint and was kinder to her neighbors.

“You go on,” Justin suggested. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Surprised, but anxious to be away from this place, Evelyn drifted into the residence.

Miss Plum tracked closely behind her, muttering, “Yer certainly quite kindhearted….”

Watching the women move off, Justin missed Evelyn’s rejoinder, but he was certain Miss Plum would think twice before sharing her malicious opinions again. Leave it to Evelyn to set others to rights without demoralizing them. She amazed him more and more with each passing day. He was in awe of her steadfast dedication to others, her astute intellect, and her earnest compassion. He feared that his days with her, however, might be numbered.

The irony of his situation did not evade him. This tangle was a dangerous game indeed, but while it waged on, Evelyn was by his side, sharing her deliciously refreshing humor, her melodious voice, her cherished smile. Justin was determined to unravel the complex web his former superior had woven around the woman he held so dear, entangling him and the entire branch. Yet in disentangling this dastardly maze, Justin would do the thing he most feared in the world: set Evelyn free. Once her friends were safe and her inheritance secured, there would be nothing to keep her in England.

He repressed a shudder. He could not imagine life without her. He could barely recall his life before her, other than that it had been loveless and wan. She sparkled, she laughed, she worried over her loved ones like a mother hen, and it gave him no end of pleasure that she counted him in her brood to cherish. But he needed more than lighthearted affection; he wanted her to love him enough that she could not bear to leave him. Even if she would not walk down the aisle with him, staying by his side would be enough.

Thinking of the reason Evelyn found the idea of marriage so repugnant, he turned and looked down at the memorial. While keeping his weight off his injured foot, he squatted down awkwardly before the small rectangular marble. Hessians were not exactly known for their give, and an injured foot did not help.