A Night of Secrets (18 page)

Her entire being seemed to stop working. She could no longer smell the rotting scent of the prison. The air was gone and her lungs shrunk. She was vaguely aware that she was clawing at his hand, but she couldn’t feel him anymore, couldn’t feel her own body. She could only see those eyes…those yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

She was going to die.

Meg let her lashes drift downward. She would not die staring into the face of a monster. She would die thinking of her family. Remembering something pleasant. But when she closed her eyes, oddly enough, she saw Grayson’s handsome features. The ache in her lungs was fading…fading… But nothing mattered anymore. Nothing mattered but seeing Grayson’s green eyes, his beautiful face, remembering the feel of his lips…

Suddenly the pressure released. Air rushed into her cramped lungs, expanding them painfully. Meg knew she slumped to the ground. She hit the hard, damp floor and knew she was still alive. But her body had grown heavy, her mind numb. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe, taking in great gasping breaths. Through the buzz in her ears she could hear the grunts of pain and crack of fists hitting flesh.

She managed to open her eyes. Three shadows twisted and turned, fighting in the narrow hall. Her head buzzed, her lungs ached, but she knew she had fainted, because she swore the shadow who had just thrown Bill across the corridor was none other than Grayson Bellamont. And Grayson would not be here unless she was unconscious and dreaming.

“Come on you cur,” Grayson’s deep voice sounded like angels singing.

Perhaps she wasn’t unconscious after all. With a cry, Meg shoved her palms into the cold, damp floor and managed to sit up, her entire body trembling. Bill lay upon the ground only a few feet away, his head bent at an odd angle. Through her terror, she vaguely realized his neck was broken.

Horrified, Meg cried out, scooting back against the cold wall. Grayson paid her no mind and grabbed Jim by the neck. With only one arm, he slammed Jim against the wall, pinning him there, his feet dangling above the floor.

With a whimper of fear and relief, Meg managed to stumble to her feet. She was seeing things…or she’d gone mad. Grayson could not possibly be here, saving her sorry hide. And he could not possibly be holding that man aloft with only the strength of one arm.

“Grayson!” she cried out.

Grayson didn’t bother to look her way, but focused on the man who was struggling, kicking, trying to gain his freedom. “No one,” Grayson said softly. “Tastes her but me.”

She had no time to think on his odd comment, for Bill’s body began to hiss, a God awful sound that raised the fine hairs on Meg’s arms. Her attention swiveled to the man on the floor, but he was a human no longer. His skin bubbled and curled upon his face, peeling back until only white bone remained.

“No!” Meg cried out, shaking her head.

Clumps of the man’s skin fell to the floor, disappearing into the darkness. Only a skeletal face remained, large round eyes staring up at the ceiling, mouth gaping wide. His clothing hung on his skeleton frame, pooling onto the floor.

“No,” she whispered. Meg’s stomach tightened, bile rising in her throat. She was going to get sick. Grayson tossed Jim to the ground, the man’s body prone. Meg pressed her hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Meg,” Grayson’s voice was rough, almost a growl.

She didn’t want to look at him. She didn’t want to open her eyes. Her body had grown numb again. She felt as if she floated. She was going to get sick…or faint and fainting, at the moment, was much preferable.

Cold, strong hands cupped the sides of her face, forcing her to open her eyes.

Slowly, Meg tilted her head back, her skull thumping against the stone wall behind her. Grayson’s green eyes glowed down at her. Piercing green eyes that frightened her, yet at the same time, gave her comfort. Dressed in black, he almost blended into the shadows, but for those eyes…those eerie green eyes.

“Come with me.”

Meg shook her head, closing her eyes. No. She couldn’t go with him. Grayson was one of them. But when she felt his arms wrap around her, she couldn’t seem to find the strength to push him away. He lifted her with ease and it was only when she felt herself huddled close to his hard chest that she let her mind go and Meg faded into the darkness.

Chapter 9

She couldn’t say what stirred her. Perhaps the slowing of the vehicle. Perhaps her aching throat. Or perhaps the presence of the man sitting next to her. She didn’t dare open her eyes just yet, but she was aware of him, completely and utterly aware. As if he’d crawled into her body and rested deep within her soul, waiting to attack.

Meg didn’t dare shift or stir, she knew better than to draw attention to herself before she completely understood what had happened. She wasn’t dead. No. Her throat ached too much, her body felt too bruised, as if she’d been through a battle. And perhaps she had.

The yellow eyes of her attackers flashed to mind and she shuddered deep within. Had she imagined them? Had she, in her frantic and exhausted mind, returned to the place she feared the most? London, two years past. A place she never wanted to revisit.

The carriage rocked slowly back and forth, but the rhythm did little to ease her turmoil. The only thing that gave her comfort, was the presence of the man next to her. The very man she should fear. Even though his body did not touch hers, she knew she wasn’t alone. She could sense him, and the realization that he was near gave her comfort like no other.

And there, in the deep recesses of her mind, she realized the moment she opened her eyes, she would have to confront not only Grayson, but the reality of her situation. Had she imagined the men? Had she imagined their eyes glowing?

Unable to wait a moment longer, she lifted her lashes. He wasn’t next to her as she’d thought. Confused, she jerked her head forward and found him seated across from her in the small carriage. Their gazes locked and her heart leapt into her throat. Those eyes no longer glowed green, but the power radiating from his being was all too present.

Meg swallowed hard, her throat rippling with a pain. She could practically still feel the monster’s hands at her throat, crushing the life from her. It had been real. She hadn’t imagined it. Grayson was one of them.

“What are you?” she whispered, daring him to admit his identity.

He didn’t answer; didn’t even move. His face stoic, he showed no emotion. Meg’s fingers curled into the woolen blanket tucked around her body, a blanket he must have provided. The carriage was small, made for speed, but it was richly decorated in dark leather. Brass lanterns that hung outside did little to highlight the interior. He must have carried her. How could a man who radiated such power, be so gentle with her?

“You…you killed them. You—”

“You imagined it.”

Sudden tears burned her eyes and she sniffled, cursing her lack of fortitude. Exhaustion, relief, fear, all fought for attention. “I didn’t imagine—”

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but you’ve had little sleep, you’ve been under incredible fear. You imagined it.”

She shook her head. No. No, she hadn’t imagined it. He was confusing her, attempting to make her think thoughts that weren’t her own. Yet, he looked so sure that a part of her wondered if perhaps she’d finally gone off the deep end and had taken a dip into the sea of insanity. For years now she’d been watching, waiting, for her nightmares to return. Perhaps the constant pressure had finally gotten to her. Perhaps she was seeing things where there was none.

“Why not just tell him?”

She pressed her trembling hands to her face, confused by the sudden change in topic. “What?”

“Where Lady Brockwell is located. Why put yourself through such turmoil?”

Meg sank back further into the corner of the carriage, hoping the darkness hid her expression. She still wasn’t sure if she should be fearful of the man, or relieved he had saved her. Was he her enemy or ally? “Why should I know?”

He leaned forward and the lantern light splashed across his face, outlining features of such fierce beauty, her breath caught. “You’ll go to jail for her? For a woman you’ve known, how long? Two years?”

“Three,” Meg whispered, the harshness of his voice frightening her.

“And you’ll go to the gaols, perhaps even hang? Perhaps something worse?”

She wouldn’t react to his statement. He was obviously trying to scare her. But why did he sound so angry? “What makes you think I know where she is?”

The carriage stopped. For one moment they merely sat there staring at each other, as if locked in battle, a battle she knew she couldn’t possibly win.

The door opened, the footman standing to the side.

“Grayson,” Meg started. “Please, you must explain…”

He jumped from the vehicle, then turned toward her. Cold hands were suddenly at her waist. He pulled her outside before she had time to blink. He lifted her easily, cradling her against his hard chest and damn it all, she liked the feel of his body. She should be afraid of him, not finding comfort in the man.

“I expect you to behave.” He started up the footpath to the front door of his manor. The large building was alight with lanterns which meant servants were still afoot.

She didn’t want him to carry her like she was some invalid. She wanted to walk on her own, but feared her legs wouldn’t hold her. “And I expect the same of you.”

His lips quirked, as if her statement amused him. Gone was the terrifying man she’d seen in prison. The charming neighbor her town had come to know was back. The door opened and the butler bowed, a ridiculous show of manners, given the circumstances.

“How long must I stay here?” she whispered.

Grayson swept inside the foyer, as if she didn’t weigh more than a feather. “Until I uncover the truth.”

She’d been right to be leery of the man, there was a reason for his sudden rescue. He wanted answers, he wasn’t interested in her welfare. The realization hurt more than she wanted to admit.

“I told you,” she said. “I did not murder Lord Brockwell. Beth did not…” She trailed off and shook her head, fighting waves of depression. For some reason she wanted him to believe her, even though she knew it was a losing battle. “It doesn’t matter, does it? You’ve got your instincts and you’ll believe what you will.”

He didn’t reply, but started toward the stairs where only a few hours earlier he’d led her toward the Constable.

“Will you lock me in the dungeon?” she asked, unable to stand the judgment in his silence.

“You’ll sleep upstairs.” At the bottom of the steps, he released his hold. She slid down his hard body, ignoring the way her skin burst to life, the way her breasts grew heavy and her entire soul seemed to light within at the friction of her body against his.

Standing there, leaning against him, she dared to look into his eyes, to search for the monster she’d seen in prison. “How? How did you kill those men with only your hands?”

“They were not men. They were monsters.” He stepped around her and started up the stairs. “And you’d do best to remember that.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Some questions are better left unanswered. I assume you’ll keep your snooping to a minimum?”

Blasted man! Why must he be so complicated? She started up after him, clutching the railing for support. “I assume you’ll have me guarded?”

“You assume correctly.” He pushed open the first door on the right, and stepped aside, waiting for her. His face was hard as stone, his eyes cold, unfeeling. She resisted the urge to step back, but couldn’t prevent the shiver from racing over her skin.

In front of him once more, Meg paused, unsure, scared, nervous, so many emotions she couldn’t catch hold of one. “Tell me the truth. Tell me what…”

From down the hall, a door squeaked open and a sudden shadow fell across the floor. A woman with long, golden hair and wearing only her night rail stepped into the hall. A woman so beautiful, she couldn’t be real. “Gray?” she said in a husky, melodic voice. “I’ve been waiting up for you. Is everything well?”

Meg couldn’t move for her legs seemed to have rooted to the floor. Why did she feel as if

her soul had just been crushed under the boot of Grayson Bellamont?

The woman furrowed her golden brows and floated forward on a wave of French perfume. “Why, she’s so young,” she said softly.

She stopped next to Meg and smiled, a smile that did nothing to light up her pale face, a smile that didn’t quite meet her hard eyes.

“Miss James, are you?”

Meg wasn’t sure if she nodded or not. Her body seemed to have grown numb, as if she were there, but hovering over them, watching from the ceiling. She had the ridiculous notion that she suddenly preferred to be in that prison rather than here.

“I’m a friend of Gray’s. Call me Millie.”

Meg’s attention jumped to Grayson but she could read nothing on his stoic face. A friend?
Gray?
She may have been naïve at times, but she wasn’t an idiot. They were obviously more than friends. Her stomach churned and she had the sudden urge to retch all over the woman’s fine, silk nightgown.