Chapter Eighteen
Theodore Smith sat in the room of the rundown inn. There were probably fleas in the bedding. At the apothecary, he’d bought some lye powder and washed his own sheets. He’d rather sleep on the floor than on sheets that had seen untold sins, filth and dirt.
Earlier, he’d sent messages to both sinners.
He wondered what the high and mighty marquis thought of him.
What she was thinking of him.
The thought made him frown. Whore. She was in that house, with another man, with the child.
A pretty little girl.
Who would undoubtedly grow up to be a harlot like her mother. Mayhap he would teach them both a lesson they would not soon forget. If he started the child’s instruction now, he might be able to save her from the demons.
He paced. The room’s rank scent mixed with the smell of burnt grease and rotten meat from below, filth from the street.
A woman’s high-pitched laughter pranced through the wall, followed by a man’s deep voice.
He slapped his hands over his ears and prayed, prayed for God to deliver him from this den of iniquity.
Pain throbbed in his head. Oh, the woman would pay for dragging him through this filth and slime of humanity. She would pay dearly.
It was almost time for another visit.
He straightened, looked around the room with its stained floor and scuffed, broken armoire and single chair. Theodore looked to the bag where his plan was held. He’d have her here soon. Soon and when he did…
For the first time in a long while, he smiled.
He stopped by the chair and picked up the two notes he’d written and sealed. And the other present he had for
Rebeckah
. It was time to remind her of her place and the trials he had to walk through in order to keep her pure. Picking up the long braided strip of leather, he walked out, whistling his favorite hymn.
* * * * *
Jason tapped his fingers on the top of his desk. What the hell was wrong with his wife?
She was withdrawn, edgy and he didn’t know why. She said it was just the baby, worry that she’d lose it.
Part of him believed her, a larger part of him did not. If he caught her unawares, she was tense, worried. Almost like when they first met.
And she’d been like that since the day, almost three weeks ago when she returned from her grandmother’s where she’d met the strange caller who had yet to be found.
Jason didn’t know who the man was, but the point the unknown person had not called here, to him—to Emily’s husband—was telling. Summerton had mentioned Emily had received two missives, but she hadn’t told him about them. Then again, he hadn’t asked, had he?
But he would.
Maybe he should take them back to
Ravenscrest
Abbey. Emily liked it there and Joy complained about who was feeding her pony daily.
After things smoothed out with The Ternary he would take his family home.
He checked the clock on the mantel, saw it was after ten. Nick and Rayne were coming by again tonight to work out details of their latest mission.
Jason still didn’t trust the whole setup, but the other two knew what they were doing. He knew he would have to take more a back seat now that he had a family. It would have to be Rayne and Nick that actually did the dirty work. Not that he liked it one damn bit, but things changed.
In a few days, Nick was leaving on one of their ships to cross the Channel, and then perhaps the West Indies, depending on where their sources led them. Rumors were already claiming Napoleon had support across the ocean. Whatever support the little demigod had, needed to be nipped in the bud. Thus the meeting he didn’t like.
Emily was in bed where he left her. She went to sleep earlier these days, the doctor said that should pass. He wished to hell the sickness would. She’d lost weight and on her slight frame it seemed even more prominent.
He stood and paced to the shelves, dusted a finger along the books and turned. Joy stood silent in the doorway.
“Poppet?” He motioned her forward and squatted down, his Hessians groaning. “What’s the matter?”
She twisted the sleeve of her gown, the eyelet bunching with her movements. “
Canna
sweep.”
Jason picked her up, smelled the lavender from her bath water and smiled. “But if you don’t sleep, then how will the sun come up in the morning? Come on, back to bed with you.”
She shook her head and burrowed against him. “Da man will get me.”
He frowned. “Man? What man?”
“Da man in my
woom
, Papa.”
Jason stopped and pulled back, looking at her in the soft light of the candle. Her eyes were big and worried. He rubbed her head.
“I bet you were dreaming,” he lowered his voice and walked out the room and up the stairs.
She shook her head. “I
wanna
sweep wit Mama.”
Of course she did. He shook his head. “Mama is very tired, she needs her rest. You have your own bed.”
“Da man will get me,” she whispered.
Jason, wanting to calm her fears, said, “Tell me about him. Was he a nice man? What was he doing in your room?” Hoping to lighten her mood, he added. “Maybe he was there to tell you a story.”
She shook her head.
“Well, then what did the man want?” He turned and went down the hallway, past his and Emily’s room, the marchioness’ rooms, the guests’ rooms and up the other stairs to the nursery.
“Doan know.”
“Perhaps he came from the moon and wanted to tell you what it was like to live there,” he tried.
She shook her head. “He
wasna
like the moon. He was mean.”
Jason had no idea what to say to that. How, he wondered, was one like the moon?
At the nursery door, he eased it opened, looked through the adjoining room and saw
Franny
was asleep. He might have to see about a new nanny. One that awoke when his daughter did.
He turned and stopped. The French doors were open out to the balcony. They were to be locked at all times.
Gently, he sat Joy on her bed. “Did you open the doors, Joy?”
She shook her head. “Da man did.”
The back of his neck prickled. He straightened. “
Franny
, wake up.” He lit a taper and studied the door. There were scratches just on the lock. Damn. He looked at the carpet in front of the door, noting it wasn’t damp nor was there any dirt or leaves on it. On the balcony, he studied everything, realizing the trellis and vines could easily be scaled from the ground three stories below. Why in the hell hadn’t he noticed that before?
The night and shadows offered him nothing.
His daughter sat on the bed, her knees drawn up. “The man was here?” he asked.
She nodded then pointed to her door that led to the hallway and the house beyond.
Apprehension slid through him. “The man went out the door?”
“Yes, my lord?”
Franny
asked, coming to stand behind him.
“Sit here with my daughter and do not move until I return.” He added a hard glare to the young woman.
He lit the candelabrum on the table and left without a candle.
Silent, Jason hurried unaided through the darkness downstairs to their room. Without warning, he opened his door. Shadows danced in the room from the dying fire. Emily lay on her stomach, the counterpane bunched and pulled around her as it always was. Carefully, he scanned the room, noted everything was as it should be. The carpets hushed his footsteps as he walked to the windows. All were shut and locked. He took a deep breath and shuffled the heavy curtains.
Everything was fine.
At the bed, he reached out and brushed his finger down her cheek. Emily sighed and settled deeper into the pillow.
Relief slid through him. Perhaps
Franny
had opened the door. He hadn’t even thought to ask her. Joy could have been dreaming.
Apprehension rippled under his skin.
* * * * *
From the behind the adjoining door, Theodore listened for the sound of the marquis. He had heard his footfalls in the hallway and barely had time to get this door shut before he knew the man was in the other room.
His hands slicked with perspiration. He’d hidden downstairs in an alcove and waited for the man to leave his study. Theodore thought the little girl had seen him when she stopped and looked down the hallway before going through the door. He’d heard the man speak to her.
The little girl with dark hair and eyes.
His daughter.
No, the other man’s daughter.
His.
Theodore shook his head and listened.
The doorknob turned ever so slowly. Two could play this game. He darted to the hallway door.
* * * * *
Jason opened the adjoining door between his and Emily’s rooms.
He kept telling himself that everything was fine, but warnings crawled across the back of his neck and he could feel it.
Something was wrong.
Moonlight slanted through the windows painting the room in contrasting pales and darkness.
Nothing moved. Nothing stirred.
He closed his eyes and took a deep, unhurried breath.
Waiting.
There, something smelled different.
Tobacco. He could smell tobacco.
Or could he?
He took another deep breath. Whatever it had been faded. Opening his eyes he scanned the room again, nothing.
On a muttered oath, he stalked to the curtains, flicked them. No one. He checked under the bed, and opened her armoire.
Paranoia was not a healthy thing. Too long in the shadows made them darken the perfect sunlit day.
Shaking his head, he strode to the doorway. He started to close the door, but turned back one last time and checked behind the door.
Nothing.
Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he eased the door shut and walked back to his wife, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
One last glance and he left.
Summerton stood on the other side of the door, Jason barely contained his
startlement
.
“What the hell are you doing?” he whispered.
“
Hardlow
and Drake are here, my lord. I’ve shown them into your study.”
He nodded. “Very good. Summerton, check with
Franny
and see if she left the balcony doors to the nursery open and if not, wake the other maids and have them search the house. I think someone used those doors to get in.”
His butler’s eyes widened. “My lord?”
“Just do it.” An idea formed. “Send someone for that Bow Street Runner I used back in the fall to locate Mrs. Smith will you? And check every room in this house.”
“Now, my lord?”
“No, Summerton, next week. Yes now.”
Jason looked down the hallway then muttering under his breath, headed to his meeting.
* * * * *
Theodore eased the door open. No one was in the room. He’d hidden in a guest room out on the window ledge, worried that the marquis would decide to search the entire house. But he knew that was going on as well. He could hear the footsteps above. He slipped into the master suite.
Hurry…
Theodore would have to hurry. The man would not be long in returning once he found the other missive Theodore had left for him.
Hurrying over to the bed, he laid the coiled, braided leather on the pillow beside
Rebeckah
, the note in the middle.
For a moment, he watched her. So peaceful, so innocent-looking.
But it was a lie. All a damn lie!
His hand darted out and he almost touched her. Almost.
He stopped, his hand over her head, curling his fingers back into a fist.
Damn the whore. She was asleep in her lover’s bed. He should end it now. Just end it.
But he wanted her to know, wanted her to wait, wanted her to fear.
With a force of will he battled his control and walked to the window. Flicking the lock open, he pushed the pane up and slid over the ledge. It wasn’t far to the ground and he’d learned how to land. Besides, the gutter pipe ran a few feet over. Carefully, he inched along the ledge, down the pipe and hurried away into the night.
He’d love to stay and see how the man tried to protect them, but he’d wait.
The fun was just beginning.
* * * * *
Cold air blew over her face. Emily shivered and pulled the blanket up and still it whispered over her hair.
With a sigh, she sat up and looked around. The fire burned in the grate and the sheers danced in the breeze coming in through the window. Maybe Jason was hot.
She turned to ask him and stopped.
He wasn’t there.
She blinked.
On Jason’s pillow lay a coiled, braided strip of leather.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She knew that piece of leather all too well.
How many lashes,
Rebeckah
? She could all but hear it whistle through the air before it stung against her.
Oh, no.
She scrambled back. Away.
The note screamed out at her to pick it up.
She didn’t touch it. A whimper slid up her throat. Fear crawled and grew until sickness greased her stomach.
Oh no, please no.
Quickly she darted out of bed, put her back to the wall and looked around the room. Nothing moved. No one was in here.
No one.
She was dreaming.
Closing her eyes, she fought to calm her heart and breathing.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up
.
She opened her eyes.
The leather still sat, a snake ready to strike. The note still stared at her, her name scrawled across the front.
He’d been here.
Oh dear God, he’d been here. In their home.
She slid down the wall, tears filling her eyes. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
Please, no.
Emily had no idea how long she sat there, praying, hoping, wishing.
Finally, the cold iced through her nightgown and she stood, rubbing her arms.
Taking a deep breath she looked at the leather. It was just leather, like her gloves, like her shoes. It couldn’t hurt her. It couldn’t.
She wouldn’t let it.
No longer was she weak and cowardly
Rebeckah
. She’d become more. She was Emily.