Nicole Jordan (14 page)

Deverill calmly explained how three masked intruders had burst into the room and stabbed the girl, with no provocation whatsoever. He had fought them and hurt two of them slightly, but then they had fled.

Linch looked rather skeptical, while Madam Bruno shook her head.

“Do you expect anyone to believe such an outrageous tale?” she demanded. “You murdered that poor girl.”

“It does look bad for you, sir,” the Runner said more respectfully.

“Why would I want to kill her?”

“Mayhap your play got too rough? I was told you have a propensity for violence.”

Deverill lifted an eyebrow. “Told by whom?” When the Runner glanced at the madam, Deverill realized where the spurious information had come from. “I have never met Madam Bruno before this evening, so she can hardly know my propensities, violent or otherwise.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” she insisted stubbornly.

“If you considered me dangerous,” Deverill replied in a silken tone, “I wonder that you not only allowed me entrance but encouraged my patronage.”

Her face flushed. “Lord Heward sponsored you.”

“Did you witness me killing Felice?”

“No, but there was no one else here.”

“Because they fled before you arrived.” Deverill returned his attention to Linch. “So your theory is that I stabbed a willing beauty in a fit of excessive sexual violence? What of the state of this room?” He gestured at the overturned chair and broken crystal. “Am I supposed to have caused that as well?”

“An altercation appears to have taken place here, sir, but it could have been staged to make it look as if ruffians had attacked you.”

“Or I could be telling the truth.” Deverill reached up to touch the painful gash on his temple that was still welling blood. “If you will inspect that chair closely, Linch, I’ll warrant you’ll find a stain that corresponds to my wound. Moreover, it seems rather apparent that a woman like Felice was too delicate to be capable of throwing a piece of heavy furniture at me.”

“True,” Linch conceded, “but that does not exonerate you, sir.”

“Would you care to hear my theory? Someone—obviously an enemy of mine—sent his minions here in a premeditated attack, to kill her and make it appear as if I was the culprit.”

“Why would someone frame you that way?”

Deverill had his suspicions, but absolutely no proof. He glanced at Heward, who had stood silently observing. “Where is Dawn?”

“In bed, where I left her.”

Very convenient, Deverill thought, that Heward had arranged such a solid alibi for himself.

For a moment, Linch hesitated before finally appearing to make up his mind. “I am afraid I must place you under arrest, sir, until this is all sorted out.”

To Deverill’s surprise, Heward stepped in to champion him. “There is obviously some mistake. I can vouch for Mr. Deverill. And I am certain it happened just as he said.”

“It
is
possible,” Linch said, “but I still must take him in.”

Heward looked intently at Deverill. “Perhaps you
should
go with him. I promise I will do everything in my power to see that you are freed at once.”

Even if he believed such assurances, Deverill’s every instinct was howling at him to resist. He would spend the rest of the night in prison at the very least. . . . Reflexively, his fingers clenched on the wooden arms of his chair. He’d endured a hellish Turkish prison once and that was more than enough. And once he was locked behind bars, it would be difficult to prove his case.

Which no doubt was exactly what Heward intended.

So he would be free to wed Antonia without interference.

What better way to deal with a rival than by framing him for murder?

A cold, hard knot settled in Deverill’s stomach as he locked gazes with the baron.

“I will tell Miss Maitland,” Heward said sympathetically. “Pray, don’t worry. She would never believe you capable of murder. She is too good-natured and innocent to think ill of anyone.”

“You are too generous, my lord,” Deverill replied with only a hint of sarcasm.

“Think nothing of it.”

The nobleman’s face was impassive, his expression one of perfect innocence. But for the barest second, a faint smile flitted across his mouth, while a gleam of pure triumph shone in his eyes.

That sly smile disappeared instantly, but Deverill suddenly knew the truth without a doubt: The killing had been orchestrated to frame him and get him out of the way, and Heward was responsible.

It made a perfect, perverted sort of sense. Deverill had been getting too close to Antonia, attempting to raise suspicions in her mind about Heward, trying to turn her against her betrothed. But the baron was extremely clever. He couldn’t kill Deverill outright because it would be too obvious, so he’d devised a more cunning plan, to murder a high-class prostitute and see that Deverill was blamed for it.

And if Heward was willing to kill an innocent bystander, then what would become of Antonia when she was his wife, at his mercy, when he was in full control of her fortune?

A simmering rage swept over Deverill. He had allowed himself to be gulled like the veriest green mark. But just now he had to repress his anger and determine how to get himself out of this mess. If he was thrown in prison, even if he could eventually clear his name, by the time he got out, Antonia could likely be Heward’s wife. The prospect made his stomach heave with dread.

The Runner spoke then, interrupting his turbulent thoughts. “I have a carriage waiting below, Mr. Deverill, to convey you to Bow Street.”

Unresisting, Deverill rose to his feet. Feeling Heward’s triumphant gaze digging into his back, he allowed himself to be escorted downstairs by the four brawny footmen and out onto the street, with the Runner following. But when they reached the carriage, Deverill acted.

Sweeping out a leg, he tumbled one guard to the ground and let fly his fists at another. As Linch drew a pistol from his belt, Deverill lunged and rammed a shoulder at the remaining two footmen, shoving them both into the Runner and sending all three men toppling backward.

The pistol discharged harmlessly, allowing Deverill to make his escape.

He sprinted into the shadows of a nearby alley, the sounds of curses and shouts following him. But his unexpected assault had bought him enough time to disappear into the unlit warren of alleys behind the club and elude his pursuers.

As he negotiated the dark London streets, his cold fury returned. Until now, he hadn’t been solely convinced of the baron’s evil nature. Nor was he willing to accept that Samuel Maitland had been murdered. But this latest inexplicable death left him with little doubt: Heward had killed Antonia’s father to keep Maitland from preventing their marriage.

Deverill’s basest instincts were urging him to turn around and find Heward; ten minutes alone in a room would be enough time to beat a confession out of him. But he might fail. And his first concern had to be for Antonia. He couldn’t leave her in London with Heward. Nor could he stay here as a wanted man, he realized, his mind planning furiously.

They would both be better off away from England. The Isle of Cyrene seemed a good choice, since he had plenty of allies there, including the Guardians’ elderly leader, Sir Gawain Olwen. But being such a great distance from London could prove a major disadvantage.

He would have to think of someplace closer, where he could work to clear his name and prove Heward’s guilt. More importantly, where Antonia could be protected and be kept safe from her murderous betrothed. Deverill wasn’t nearly as concerned about absolving his name as he was about protecting Antonia.

But either way, he had to act now, immediately, so they could sail with the midnight tide, before Bow Street could mount a hunt for him. . . .

He paused to get his bearings. He was in London’s Covent Garden district, and he’d instinctively been moving west toward Mayfair. Making a decision, Deverill shifted course slightly, heading for Macky’s lodgings on St. James Street.

What he needed most at the moment was trusted allies, and who better than his fellow Guardians to rely on in dangerous times of trouble?

Six

Macky’s manservant was not overly distressed to see the blood on Deverill’s clothing, since it was not a unique event. And Deverill was not surprised to find Macky away from his lodgings for the evening, reportedly playing cards at a nearby gaming hell.

While the servant summoned a closed hackney carriage to await Deverill on the street, he scribbled a quick note for the captain of his ship, with orders to round up his crew and ready his schooner to sail within the hour. Then he sent the servant to fetch Macky home and carry the note down to the London docks where his ship was located.

After washing the blood from his hands, Deverill sat at the desk to pen a list of instructions, outlining the steps that needed to be undertaken while he was away. Macky was already privy to the current investigation of Heward, but after tonight, there were several more actions that Deverill wanted executed as soon as possible.

As he compiled the list, he crushed his smoldering remnants of anger as emotion he couldn’t afford; anger altered judgment, caused errors. Instead he focused on the threat of danger, welcoming the rush in his adventurer’s soul that kept his mind sharp and his senses wary. The gauntlet had been thrown down and he was happy to pick it up, but at this moment, he had one mission only: He would see Antonia safe or die trying.

When he was done, Deverill washed his face and cleaned the gash at his temple, then shed his bloody waistcoat. The rest of his clothing couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t borrow a coat or trousers from Macky, since he was taller and had wider shoulders than his fellow Guardian. And returning to his hotel room was out of the question, since it might possibly be watched. But he had sufficient clothing on his schooner, which would be more difficult for his pursuers to locate. He needed to be armed, however, in case he encountered his adversaries.

When Macky appeared moments later, Deverill had just begun to load and prime a set of pistols from among his colleague’s cache of weapons.

Beau Macklin was a former provincial actor turned Guardian. A few years older than Deverill’s age of thirty, Macky boasted curling chestnut hair and a handsome visage that, combined with his roguish charm, made him a great favorite with the female sex. His excellent thespian skills allowed him to play numerous roles, although his most usual guise these days was that of a gentleman about town.

Macky listened intently as Deverill related the grim events of the evening.

“I gravely underestimated that bastard Heward,” Deverill said at the conclusion.

“I suppose staying to fight him is not an option?”

“With a warrant out for my arrest, my effectiveness will be limited at best, since I can’t show my face. Moreover, I’ll be at a disadvantage, opposing a nobleman of Heward’s consequence. As a social rebel, I’ll be given little benefit of the doubt, as I would if I
bore a title and pandered to the nobility.” Deverill frowned. If he left London, his flight would make
him appear guilty, but that couldn’t be helped. “If it were only my skin at risk, I would chance staying, but
Antonia Maitland is in Heward’s clutches. I’ll be damned if I will let him take his sweet time arranging her demise.”

“Obviously, drastic action is called for,” Macky agreed. “What will you do?”

“Take her to Cornwall. To Lady Isabella’s castle near Falmouth. Heward will never find her there.”

“Will she go?”

Deverill’s mouth curled. “Not willingly, I expect. I’ll need to come up with some story to get her on board my ship tonight.” He gestured toward the desk. “I’ll rely on you to handle matters here. I’ve written down my instructions. Read that list and tell me if you have any questions.”

As Deverill finished loading the pistols, Macky glanced down the list. “I’m to start with Madam Bruno—to discover why she was so insistent that you committed the murder.”

“Yes. She had to be part of Heward’s plot. Her accusations were too pointed for her to be merely an
innocent bystander.”

“She was an actress before she took to the demimonde,” Macky divulged.

Deverill grimaced. “That doesn’t surprise me. Her performance tonight was quite convincing. I’ll leave it to you to determine how best to persuade her to confess her role.”

Macky pursed his lips as he reviewed the second item. “Find the coves who actually killed the girl.”

“That scarred face shouldn’t be difficult to trace using your contacts in the underworld. But then we need to prove that Heward hired him and his fellow ruffians.”

“I understand. And this doctor?”

“Heward’s physician examined Samuel Maitland’s body for cause of death, so he might also have supplied the poison that killed Maitland. Find out the doctor’s name and where he purchases his medicines. As for the rest, you can enlist the aid of Ryder when he returns from his latest mission, and Thorne, when he arrives from Cyrene,” Deverill said, naming two of their fellow Guardians. “I will stay in touch by courier. If my strategy works, I should be able to return to London in a matter of weeks to implement the rest of the plan myself.”