Everything I Ever Wanted (41 page)

West chuckled softly. "Thought for a moment she might land you a facer, South. I should have liked to see that again." He pointed to the settee. "Won't you sit, Miss Parr? May I get you a drink? Sherry, perhaps?"

India sat, but she declined the offer of a drink, It was not yet three o'clock in the morning, and while she did not begrudge them their whiskey, she could not imagine joining them. As soon as South and West returned to their seats, India came to the matter that had brought her downstairs.

"I was listening, you know," she said without apology. "You have some paintings, I believe."

"Yes," West said. "Two." He pointed to them.

"May I?" She saw immediately that neither man was comfortable with her request. "Now you are being ridiculous, " she said, including both of them in her admonishment. "You have looked at them, have you not?" She started to rise, but South stayed her and retrieved the paintings himself.

"You do not have to do this," he said, holding them out to her.

"I do. His Grace has questions, I believe." India chose one of the paintings, slipped off the twine, and unrolled it. She looked at it only long enough to assure herself it was one of Margrave's, then did the same with the second. What had been unimaginable minutes ago seemed perfectly reasonable now. Returning them both to South, she said, "I will have that drink, if you please."

"Of course." He headed for the drinks cabinet.

"Brandy," she said. "Not sherry."

South set down the sherry decanter and chose the brandy. His smile was still a trifle grimly set when he gave India her drink. "You have seen those paintings before?"

She nodded. "Not for some time. The one with the chaise was done in Paris. That would make it at least three years old. The temple painting was completed in the last eighteen months." India turned to West and spoke frankly. "I overheard you say that you have seen that place. I can only tell you that I have not. Nor the room with the chaise and the velvet drapes. I had always supposed those backgrounds to be a fantasy of Margrave's, not so different from a stage."

West frowned slightly and rubbed his unshaven chin with his knuckles. "You may be more correct that you realize, Miss Parr, though the theatre is decidedly different than the one you know." He shook his head slightly, regretting that he could not say more even as he regretted having said so much. "Forgive me, Miss Parr, but I must know if you are acquainted with the men in the paintings."

Out of the corner of her eye, India saw South's fingers tighten on his glass. She thought he might protest the question, but he held himself in check. "No, Your Grace. I am not. You will understand when I tell you that I have thought of them as no more than props. Margrave has never said if they exist in fiesh-and-blood form."

"How many paintings are there?"

"I can estimate only. They could number forty." India heard South's sharp intake of breath but remained attentive to Westphal. "Will you allow me to destroy the paintings, Your Grace? I wish to burn them."

"I cannot."

The answer was not unexpected. The pressure India felt against her chest was enormous. She looked to South now, applying to him for help.

It pained South that he could not do this thing for her. "West assures me he will keep them safe, India. No one will see them, and when his assignment is concluded he will return them to you."

"I thought they were safe," she said on a thread of sound. "And now His Grace has two. It is as I feared: Margrave is making them public."

West shook his head. "No, Miss Parr. I found these in a very private collection. I took them because you were the subject of both, and I recognized you from the theatre, but there are others. Many others. And they do not feature you."

India covered her mouth with her hand, and for a moment she thought she would be sick. South encouraged her to drink, and she raised her glass with fingers that trembled slightly. "Are they also Margrave's work?" she asked.

"I cannot say," West said. "I think not. There are many dissimilarities in the styles."

India wished she had not crept into the hallway after South had gone below stairs. She wished she had returned to his bed or her own instead of dressing as if for afternoon tea. She wished

Her head came up sharply and her nostrils flared. "Do you" She stood. Nerveless fingers could no longer hold the glass, and it fell to the floor, splashing brandy on her gown and at the edge of the braided rag.

South leaped to his feet beside her and he spun toward the stairs, alert now to the same danger as India. He closed the distance to the steps in a few strides, West on his heels.

"Get your pelisse, India," South told her as he started up the stairs. "And wait for us outside."

She wanted to argue, to insist that she could offer a pair of helping hands, but South was taking the stairs two at a time and West was rounding the newell post to follow in the same direction. They had no time to reason with her or she with them, so she let them go and went to retrieve her pelisse.

Stepping out into the crisp night air, India considered it a fitting irony that Margrave's paintings might be destroyed by fire after all.

It was a trap.

South realized it only after he and West were firmly caught. Flames crawled up the drapes and across the bed's counterpane, licking at the ceiling and scorching the bedposts. West used his jacket to beat at the fire. South found a blanket that had not yet been touched, and did the same. For a while it seemed as if their efforts only fanned the conflagration. Fingers of fire leaped to the mantel, and smoke rolled out from under the armoire. The occasional unpredictable gust of wind found its way through the open bedroom window and made the flames dance and spin toward South, retreat, then do the same in West's direction.

At one point, both men were pushed back by the heat and smoke to the door. They came at the fire again, this time with fresh blankets from the adjoining bedroom and buckets of snow that West hauled from outside. On this round, it was the fire that retreated.

Standing in the doorway, West surveyed the damage. Most of what the fire had done was superficial, scorching but not incinerating what was in its path. The curtains and bedcovers were a minor loss. The mattress still smoldered.

Wisps of smoke curled along the length of the mantel and between cracks in the floorboards. "Are you all right?" West asked, glancing sideways at his friend.

South nodded. "You?"

West idly ground out the glowing embers on the blanket at his feet. "Fine," he said. "What do you make of it?"

It was then that South knew precisely what to make of it. West's simple question forced him to examine all the separate elements and find the whole. The window had been closed when he left the bedchamber, and India would have had no reason to open it. South crossed the charred floor to the mantel and ran his hand along the edge. His fingers came away blackened, but there were hints of an oily residue. The gusting wind was not the only reason the fire had leaped with such abandon. If he took the time to investigate, he was certain he would find traces of lamp oil all along the path the flames took.

"India," he said softly, more to himself than to West. "He's come for India."

"What?"

But South understood he had no time to make explanations. He sprinted from the room and managed the steps in a few jumps. Not breaking stride, he went for the cottage's back door and flung it open. Heedless that he was barefoot and without a coat, South ran outside. "India!" He knew he was calling in vain, that even if she were close enough to answer she would be restrained from doing so. South cupped his hands around his mouth and tried again. His voice rose hoarsely into the cold night air. "India!"

West came up beside him and took his arm. South shook him off. Far from being discouraged, West stepped directly in front of his friend and eyed him levelly."Tell me, South. What is it you think you know?"

South reluctantly lowered his hands."It's Margrave. He's taken India. I'm sure of it. The fire was deliberately set to get her out of the cottage. If we had followed" He left the rest unsaid. His gaze went past West's shoulder and to the wood beyond. "I have to find her."

West had heard enough. "Not dressed like that," he said. South might be oblivious to the cold at the moment, but it couldn't last long. He pointed back to the cottage. "Inside." His terse command did what the bitter cold had been unable to. West watched South gather the threads of his senses and acknowledge how hopelessly unprepared he was to track India's trail. He waited for South to turn and head for the door before he followed in his friend's footsteps.

West needed only to get his coat. He left South to find suitably warmer clothes and boots for himself and went to ready their mounts. He didn't know why he was surprised to find the animals gone, but he was."Bloody, bloody hell," he swore under his breath. For good measure he kicked the stall door.

He was halfway back to the cottage when he saw South step out, carrying a lantern. West immediately shook his head and called to him, "It's no good. He's made off with our hordes. Even the grays are gone."

South felt as if he'd taken a blow to his midsection. He actually rocked back on his heels under the imaginary force of it. His recovery, though, was swift. "Griffin will return to me."

West nodded. "As will mine. Margrave cannot possibly manage Miss Parr and the horses for long. Miss Parr alone will make the journey difficult for him."

South was not so certain about India. "Margrave has drugged her before, West. Even if he has not done as much already, the threat of the same may be enough to encourage her cooperation." Raising the lantern, South surveyed the ground for some hint of the direction Margrave had taken. He began walking to where the horses had been stabled, West at this side. "India told me only tonight that she thinks my safety would be served if she returned to London and Margrave. I do not think we can assume she is making it hard for him to get her away."

West frowned. "Is she aiding him, do you mean?"

"No. But neither will she resist him." South's mouth flattened in a grim line. "At least, I hope she doesn't. He's capable of hurting her in ways you can't imagine, West. Leave it at that."

West did, though questions hovered on his lips. "Throw your light that way," he said, pointing to the stand of trees.

South did, and they clearly saw the path of trampled snow that wended its way toward the pines. "It looks as if he tethered the horses together."

Thinking the same thing, West nodded. "If I were him I'd let them go one at a time and make it more difficult for us to determine the path he set for himself and Miss Parr."

South agreed. Without a word passing between them, they began walking the trail. It would be impossible to follow on foot for more than a few miles, but the hope they would come across their mounts more quickly this way prompted their pedestrian pursuit.

It was daybreak before West's mount crossed their path, and another hour before one of the grays came meandering toward them. Without bridle and saddle, the horses could not be ridden far, and already Margrave's trail had grown colder than the crusty snow. The divergent paths, some of which led to a better traveled road, made it no more than guesswork to know which route Margrave had taken. South finally had to acknowledge there was no point in going farther.

Glancing at West, he realized he had come late to the decision to turn back. "You should have spoken up, West."

"No. You had to determine the point of return. I would not have you regret we gave up too quickly."

"I have not given up at all."

There was no mistaking the grim resolve in South's tone. West nodded, understanding. "What can I do?"

South shook his head. "It is for me to do."

"But"

Holding up a gloved hand, South cut his friend off. "It is for me to do," he repeated firmly.

West was having none of it. "Would you absolve me of all responsibility, South? Or hadn't you yet considered that I must have led Margrave to you?"

"Considered and dismissed," South said. "It's more likely he got wind of my destination when I left London. He couldn't touch me while I was there, for fear of not being able to find India, but once I took to the road, he had to have eventually realized my destination. India accused me of wanting him to follow, and the truth is, she was more in the right of it than wrong. I did not know it was Margrave then that I was trying to draw out, but that didn't matter. I knew enough to understand that India's presence would bring her protector in pursuit."

South could see his breath mist in the air as he exhaled. "A poorly laid trap, as it turns out."

West wondered if that was entirely so. His own presence had probably cost South his chance for capture. "That's why you came downstairs armed with the pistol," West said. "You were expecting Margrave."

South shrugged. "It occurred to me."

Cursing softly, West curled his hands into loose fists at his sides. "So you are determined to do this alone?"

"Yes."

"Even North asked for help from his friends."

"It is not the same thing. Elizabeth was not abducted. She fled. There was no prospect of danger in looking for her, either to Elizabeth herself or to one of us. That is not true in India's case. Margrave will have her only for himself. If he cannot, then I believe he will make it impossible for anyone to have her."

"He would kill her?"

South did not answer immediately. He stared straight ahead, his eyes little different in their coloring or coolness from the silver-gray snow clouds on the horizon. "Yes," he said finally. Numb to every kind of feeling, his voice held no inflection. "I think there can be no other way for him. His mind will make sense of it. His sickness is so profound, he can justify any action he takes."

"He will try to kill you first."

"Most likely."

West felt a shiver chase a chill down his spine. "This is not something you can talk your way out of, South."

South smiled, though his grave features were little changed by the effort. "We'll see, won't we?"

India came to consciousness slowly. There was nothing about what she saw that was familiar, nothing about what she felt that did not hurt. Groaning softly, she tried to lift her head. The few degrees she was able to manage gave her a restricted view of the snow-covered ground. When her head fell back, she recognized the smell and textured silkiness of a horse's hindquarters.

Her first coherent thought was that she should throw herself from the animal. On the heels of that came the realization that she had no idea how to go about it. When she tried to move her arms and legs, she discovered she had not the free use of them. Her thighs were pressed tightly together; her arms lay flush to her sides. Every part of her body save her head was securely trussed in a heavy blanket. Secured in that ignominious manner, she had been thrown over the horse's back. Now each forward motion of the mount jarred her belly and made her head pound.

"Coming around, are we?" Margrave asked. Though it was a question, there was nothing in his tone that indicated he had a particular interest in the answer.

"Allow me to rise," India said.

"You will have to repeat yourself, I'm afraid."

She did not fault him for his lack of comprehension, only for what he had done to make it so. To India's own ears her words were almost unintelligible. It was always thus after one of his opiate treatments. Her mouth was invariably so dry and her tongue so thick that words could not be formed easily around it. "Let me up," she said, forcing emphasis into each consonant.

"In time." Margrave reached behind him to make certain she was still situated properly on his mount's back. "But now is not the time."

"I cannot bear this," she said. It did not matter to India if he understood her. The panic in her voice was clear enough.

"Yes, you can," said Margrave."This and so much more. You will see, India. You only think you cannot bear it. It is a lie you tell yourself and would have me believe."

There was nothing for it but that she close her eyes. Her head swam. Splashes of color appeared behind her eyelids, fading and reappearing, shifting and coming into new focus in a kaleidoscopic display. She thought she would be sick, but it was only fear that made her stomach clench and caused beads of sweat to form on her brow. She could feel tendrils of hair clinging to her damp cheeks and neck and had no means to brush them away.

"Please," she said, though she had promised herself she would not beg.

"Very prettily said," Margrave told her. "I shall look forward to hearing it again from your lips." One corner of his mouth edged upward in a parody of a smile. "And I will, you know. Often."

India surrendered consciousness again.

The next time she woke, she was in a closed carriage. The blinds were drawn over the windows, but it was of little matter. She could tell by the unrelieved darkness at the edges that it was hours past nightfall. Her slight movement attracted the attention of her companion. She felt Margrave lean toward her from the opposite seat. His shadowed features came into focus, and when he spoke she smelled the sweetness of peppermint on his breath. It meant that he had been smoking. The cloying fragrance of his cheroot still clung to his clothes.

"I know you're awake," he said. "Come. Sit up and talk to me. I would have some conversation. It has been deuced unpleasant of you to sleep for so long. You do it just to spite me."

"You drugged me." Her tongue was no longer thick in her mouth, but the dryness had not vanished. "It is not at all the same as sleeping."

He shrugged. "Now you are splitting hairs."

"Is there water?"

"No. But I have a flask of brandy. Would that serve?"

She nodded.

Margrave saw the movement, but he wanted to hear her say it. "You will have to speak up."

"Yes."

"There is more, perhaps?"

"Yes, please."

"Very good." He reached inside his frock coat and removed a silver flask. "This was my father's, you know." He held it out to her. "Here. Take it. There is no drug in it."

In the darkness, it was impossible to accept the flask without touching him. He wore gloves, and the leather was butter soft around his elegantly shaped hands. The contact sent a chill through her that she could not completely hide. She could only hope that he would attribute it to the cold. "Thank you." India sipped the brandy, letting it wash over her tongue and all around the interior of her mouth before she swallowed. "Where are we going?"