The Earl With the Secret Tattoo (9 page)

“Are you all right?” the earl asked, his eyes filled with concern.

She dug her nails into the cushion she sat upon. “I’ve always hated my stepfather,
long before he married Mother. I sensed something was off about him—but no one would
listen.”

“You can’t go back to that house.”

“I have to.”

“You can’t. You were safe as long as you didn’t ask questions. The thug who came to
your room tonight was no doubt from him. If Pritchard knows you’ve left the house,
and if he finds out you’ve been here, he’ll kill you.”

“But if I don’t go back, he’ll know I found out too much. He’ll figure out that I
had the talisman, after all. And then he’ll flee.” She stood.

Lord Tumbridge stood, too.

“I want you to get him,” she said.

“We will. I’m going to wake up the right people, and we’ll have those damning documents
by morning. He probably won’t even be aware you’re not there. Do you sleep late?”

“No,” she said miserably. “We’re both early risers and are usually at breakfast together.”

The thought of ever sharing breakfast again with that wicked man made her ill. But
she would if she had to, if it helped the earl and his colleagues snare him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lord Tumbridge said. “You’ll stay with me. We’ll get the documents.
If for some reason it takes longer than expected, if he notices your absence in the
morning and decides to flee, he won’t get away. Whatever port town he intends to escape
to, we’ll follow.”

“That’s too risky. I have to act as if nothing has happened. It’s not too late. I
can go back tonight and wake up and pretend everything’s all right in the morning.
That will give you the time you need.”

“Lady Eleanor, I’m afraid I can’t allow it.”

“You’ll have to,” she said, brooking no argument. “I won’t leave my mother. Vain as
she is, there’s no way she’d condone the murder of my father. She must be completely
unaware. Nor can I leave Clare. It’s not her fault her father is a villain. I want
to be with them in case he’s arrested later today. I
need
to be with them. And if for some reason, the arrest is delayed and life goes on as
usual until justice can be done, I’ll have done my duty by my father, which is to
watch over our family.”

“You’re already done your duty—by him
and
your country,” Lord Tumbridge insisted.

“You brought us the talisman.” He took her by the shoulders. “Your mother and stepsister
will be fine. They’ve been fine all along. They’re not the ones asking questions.”

Lady Eleanor sighed. “I appreciate your concern, but you know what I advise is the
best move. You don’t know for sure you can get those documents this morning. It might
be more involved than you thought. And if he decides to run, you don’t know who might
help him get away.”

“But I promised your father to keep you safe.” The earl’s voice was low.

“What do you mean?”

“You wonder why I’ve interfered in your life.” He told her about her former suitor
Rupert Hawthorne and how he beat women; about the baron in Yorkshire who wanted to
hire her as a governess. “He was fond of seducing governesses, actually.”

“I can’t believe it,” Eleanor said, feeling utterly overwhelmed. “And I was so angry
at you.”

“Understandably.”

“If only I’d known.” She wanted to kiss him again. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
There were too many important matters to discuss, too many shocking pieces of news
swirling in her head. She picked up her reticule, wrapped it around her wrist, then
reached for her cape on the sofa and put it on.

“Thank you,” she told the earl, and meant it from the bottom of her heart. “I’m sure
my father would have appreciated all your efforts to keep me safe, too. But you left
out the robbery. You started there.”

“Yes,” Lord Tumbridge said, “but I was still after that talisman. Don’t give me too
much credit.”

“I give you
all
the credit,” she said with a smile. “You were after that talisman to unmask my father’s
killer. But what about Lord Andrew? You know you set him up to reveal his own foolishness
to me. But he was in no way dangerous.”

“I agree there was nothing terribly wrong with Wells.” Lord Tumbridge managed to appear
abashed, which was difficult, Eleanor thought with wry amusement, when one had such
a commanding presence. The pucker in his brow and the slightest softening around his
eyes gave him away. “I intervened where I shouldn’t have, but I don’t regret it.”

She felt herself blush at the look he was sending her: half heat, half boyish yearning.
“You—you don’t?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to keep you safe”—he cupped her jaw with a strong, warm hand—“for me.”

There was complete and utter silence.

“Really?” she whispered.

He nodded, and then he kissed her again, her body pressed to his, and his to hers.
They turned in a slow circle, balancing each other as the kiss deepened.

“Eleanor,” he whispered.

She felt that frightening feeling again. “Lord Tumbridge—”

“James,” he whispered in her ear, and kissed the nape of her neck. “Please call me
James.”

“James,” she said, and that was all it took for the floodgates to open between them.

He picked her up, kissed her openmouthed, hungrily, and she twisted her arms about
his neck and kissed him back.

She pulled back. “I had no idea I’m the type who lifted like a sack of potatoes and
spun about. Not until this evening.”

“Damn your bloody cape,” he said back. “And you’re more like a sack of feathers. Definitely
not potatoes.”

They returned to kissing.

A few heady moments later, he said, “I want you with me. In my life. In my bed. At
my side. And you’re never going to wear a cape again.”

They smiled at each other.

“I want the same.” But she felt her eyes begin to sting.

“What is it?” His tone was so concerned, a tear came out.

He kissed it away.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “So many things are happening. Frightening things,
too, things that could knock me off my feet—even kill me—if I’m not careful. But it
all seems to fade away when I’m with you. There you are, standing in the middle of
the chaos, strong and sure and…and
there
.”

His mouth tipped up. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

She chuckled, and the fear retreated. “I’m a writer, you know.”

“Are you? Was that supposed to be poetic?”

She winced. “I’ve never been good at poetry, I’m afraid.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree.” He grinned and dropped her to the floor in a quick move
that required her to find her feet right away. “But I like everything about you, Lady
Eleanor Gibbs. Even your bad poetry.”

“Thank you.” Her whole face burned with pleasure. “I’m going back now, and you know
I should. So please, simply wish me well. And I have total faith that you’ll be arriving
at the house sometime after breakfast—before my wretched, hideous stepfather leaves
for Whitehall. I’ll delay him as long as I can.”

“But—”

She put two fingers on his lips. “You’ve fulfilled your promise to my father. Now
let me show him that I am my own protector, thanks to everything he taught me about
bravery and about taking chances. And everything he
didn’t
. There was one time, I’m sorry to say, that I observed him rolling over and playing
coward—not that I judge him ill for it. In his own way, he was trying to protect me
even then.”

“Was he?”

“Yes. He was trying to hold his family together. Mother, I believe, was infatuated
with Lord Pritchard. Papa knew this, I’m guessing, and did what he could to maintain
family harmony.”

“He deserved better,” James said grimly.

“Life’s not fair, is it?” Eleanor sighed. “But we still need to fight for what’s right.
Give me a chance to prove to myself—and not to anyone else—that my intuition is my
best guide. It brought me to you, didn’t it?”

“So it did.” James leaned his forehead against hers. “All right, then. You go. I’ll
follow at a distance, of course, until the very last minute. And when this is over,
I intend to continue this discussion,” he added softly, and kissed her temple.

“I’d be happy to, my lord. But only—”

“Only what?”

“Only if I’m allowed to get a closer look at your tattoo,” she said, feeling bolder
than she ever had before.

Which led to another long kiss and numerous assurances that the tattoo was hers to
peruse at her leisure.

“Signal me when I can come see you,” he said. “I’ll be watching.”

So she told him exactly which window was hers facing the front street—she had a corner
room—and said she’d put a blue vase with a flower in it on the sill at the right moment.
“That will be when I have Mother and Clare settled. This will come as quite a shock
to them.”

Eleanor took one last kiss back with her, but she left her heart in Lord Tumbridge’s
house that night.

<#>

James could hardly stand it. His lady love was at risk. Every minute he delayed in
getting those documents could be the minute in which Lord Pritchard harmed or even
killed Eleanor.

So he roused everyone who could expedite matters, including the Brotherhood’s code
master, whose fine work on Lord Kersey’s instructions on the talismans led James to
awaken Meryl, his friend in the diplomatic corps, and Charlie, his contact at Scotland
Yard, who served as his envoy in matters of procedure.

At seven in the morning, Charlie was forced to visit an exhausted madam who, unbeknownst
to her, held a secret key to a bank vault behind a mirror in her house of ill repute.
As a consequence, Charlie then had to knock upon the residence of the president of
a bank—with a formal letter of request and apology from the government, written by
Meryl—to open his bank early. Charlie then had to track down a very harried security
guard, who was forced to come in an hour and a half before regular opening time with
his keys to give Charlie access to the bank vaults and total privacy to explore them.

James entered at this point, his cape wrapped around him, his hat brim down.

By eight o’clock in the morning, the damning documents containing Lord Pritchard’s
correspondence with a French agent—stolen by Lord Kersey himself from Pritchard’s
desk—had been retrieved from a locked deposit box, and Prinny himself had been alerted.

By nine o’clock, the arresting officers had been assembled and had converged on the
home of Lord Pritchard. They were inside now, making the arrest.

Eleanor was there, too, James knew, but where? In the same room as the villain? Or
hidden away with her mother and stepsister?

Everything in him ached to abandon procedure and go after her. But he didn’t. He was
still a member of the Brotherhood, at least for the nonce. He wondered when he’d tell
Stubing he was going to resign.

Later,
he thought. But it would be done, and he felt at perfect peace about it.

Nevertheless, he was on edge as he watched from a café across the street with his
Brotherhood friends. Reeves sat at another table, reading. Stubing was with his wife,
Mary, arguing at the counter over what confection to buy. And Patrick sat with James.
Their being together wouldn’t be remarked upon. They were both idle gentlemen with
nothing better to do than sit about a café, half-drunk, weren’t they?

The front door of the Pritchard house burst open.

“James Dawbry, Earl of Tumbridge—you
bastard
!” shrieked Lord Pritchard, his hands bound behind his back.

“There goes your cover,” murmured Patrick.

James shrugged. “It was the right time, actually.” And it was.

“But why you and not us?” Patrick didn’t look at him.

“Lord Kersey was like a father to me,” murmured James. “Pritchard knew it. It’s his
last chance to hurt him, through me. But he still doesn’t understand that Gibbs didn’t
need any of this. Nor do I. Nor does anyone doing it for the right reasons.”

“And his were always wrong,” said Patrick. “Sorry the game’s up for you.”

James’s heart rather broke. “I’ll miss you, friend.”

“And I, you. See you around Town. From afar, of course.” Without any hesitation, Patrick
got up and left the café without looking back at him.

Ah, well. At least, if James had to go, he’d go out well. He’d made amazing friends
in the Brotherhood he’d never forget, and he’d completed his last mission before being
thrust back into the ordinary—yet extraordinary—world of the beau monde.

He fully intended to take up life as a new, improved earl who’d seemingly grown up
overnight, a transformation that could happen to the merriest partygoers, everyone
knew, particularly ones who fell in love.

But he would relish these next few minutes—his last as a member of the Brotherhood—as
the highlight of his career.

It was with great relief and deep satisfaction that he watched Lord Pritchard put
into an open wagon and surrounded by officials ensuring he wouldn’t go anywhere. The
vehicle rumbled down the street and around the corner, its wicked captive sitting
with bowed head and shoulders.

And it was over.

Finally.

James looked over at Reeves for the briefest moment. Reeves nodded his own farewell,
his expression entirely neutral, except for the lines of sadness around his eyes,
which he quickly erased by yawning.

Stubing and his wife walked to the door with a box of baked goods—the last thing the
sharpshooter-turned-baker needed. He looked over his wife’s head a second too long,
but it was long enough for James to read
thank you
in his gaze.

They’d never speak again.

James’s heart swelled with so much feeling that he had to stand. And once Stubing
left and Reeves did the same, he was glad to walk. He lingered in the neighborhood
as long as he could without looking obvious, his eyes flicking occasionally to Lady
Eleanor’s window as he browsed a few shops.