Regency: Rakes & Reputations: A Rake by Midnight / The Rake's Final Conquest

There was a long hesitation while Mr. Metcalfe evidently struggled with his conscience, then continued in a lowered voice. “Henley is a patient man. He has been waiting. Waiting for an opportunity to finish off his enemies. I am one of his loose ends. I know too much. I know who—” He stopped as if afraid he’d said too much. But when he continued, his words surprised her.

“And you, Miss O’Rourke, are top of his list. London is not safe for either of us unless, or until, Henley has been dealt with.”

“By whom? Who is left to deal with him, Mr. Metcalfe?

The Home Office has failed twice. If not me, if not you, then who?”

He shook his head as if to deny her words. “I am merely trying to stay alive until he has been caught. I’d advise you to do the same.”

She squeezed his arm to make her point. “I need your help, Mr. Metcalfe. Tell me what you know that makes you fear for your life. Tell me anything you know that could bring him down. Tell me what lock your little key fits and what I will find there.”

“I’ve already said too much.”

The dance ended and Mr. Metcalfe released her, glancing over his shoulder with a harried look. Before she could form a protest, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd almost instantly.

At least she finally had an answer to one of her questions. Now she knew why she couldn’t remember the events of that night. But there was still so much more she needed to know. If she could not remember herself, surely there was someone, somewhere, who could fill in those lost hours.

Her head whirled with the implications of Mr. Metcalfe’s warnings. She needed a moment to think, to gather her composure and plan what she should do next. As the next dance began, she crossed the dance floor to the wide terrace doors and slipped through, ignoring the couples gathered there and others strolling along the paths. She needed to find just a single moment in a quiet place.

She stopped at an ivy-covered arbor and gripped the latticework until her knuckles were white. Gradually she became aware that she’d punctured her thumb on a hidden thorn. She shook her hand. “Ouch!”

Mr. Metcalfe appeared out of the shadows and came to her side. Had he decided to tell her about the key?

He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth. He licked the little droplet of blood. Shocked, she pulled her hand away. “Sir!”

He produced a handkerchief from the folds of his black robe and she accepted it reluctantly.

“Delicious,” he said.

A chill spiraled up her spine. That was not Mr. Metcalfe’s voice! Instinctively, she spun around to make a dash for the terrace doors, but the leper’s hand clamped over her mouth and she was yanked back against a hard chest.

“How nice to see you again, my dear. You look just like a pretty little canary. I wonder if your neck will be as easy to break.”

Henley! Dear God!

He began dragging her backward. “But you and I are like the phoenix, m’dear. We have both risen from the ashes, eh? Though I shall rise and soar whilst you shall burn again. Poor little bird.”

A sound, half moan, half muted scream, rose from her throat and he clamped his hand tighter, mashing her lips against her teeth and closing her nostrils.

Henley’s breath was hot and foul against her cheek. “Ah, and here comes your erstwhile savior. How fortunate for me. Now, if I only had a pistol. My, my. Yes, a knife will have to do again.”

James was looking for her, turning in every direction, but he could not see them in the shadows of the arbor. Henley could slash him when he walked past! “Eugenia? Miss O’Rourke?”

Henley chortled. “So proper? Are you not his whore yet?” he asked in a raspy voice.

She brought her heel down sharply on his instep and pulled away at the same time. “Jamie!” she screamed.

He turned toward her voice and came running at full speed. Henley uttered a foul curse and ran in the opposite direction.

Jamie reached her and gripped both her arms as he looked into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

She forced her tears back as she nodded and pointed in the opposite direction, her throat raw. “Henley!”

“Run to the house. Do not stop until you are there. Find Charlie and tell him what’s happened.” He took off in pursuit and she thought she heard him utter an equally foul curse.

Chapter Nine

The gardens were empty near the back mews. No sign of Henley, damn it all! The man could not have doubled back or Jamie would have seen him. He arrived at a scene of confusion at the stables.

“… just took his lordship’s stallion and rode off,” one groom was saying to another.

Jamie could still hear the hoofbeats in the distance. “Who?” he shouted.

The stable hands turned to him. “A leper, sir. Dressed like a leper. I was just saddling Lord Grenleigh’s stallion when the man ran up, knocked me on my arse, took the reins and rode away. What’ll I tell his lordship, sir?”

Jamie couldn’t think of that now. Only that Henley had gotten away again and by the time his coach was made ready Henley would be enjoying a pint in whatever hole he hid in. “Have my driver ready my carriage and bring it around front. I’ll give Grenleigh the news.”

“Thank ye, sir.” The stable master tipped his cap with a look of profound relief.

Damn Henley, that misbegotten son of Satan! Jamie strode back through the gardens, his head down, hoping to find some clue, some hint of Henley’s presence or an indication of where he’d been. In the shadows of the arbor, the toe of his shoe skimmed something soft and pliable. He looked down, startled to see something that looked suspiciously like a hand.

He knelt and parted the shrubbery. A man’s body, covered partially by the foliage, had been hidden beneath the branches. Dreading what he might find, he rolled the body over. Bloody hell…Stanley Metcalfe. The very man Jamie had been searching for this past week. Henley had gotten to him first.

Metcalfe’s pale blue eyes were still open and his mouth gaped in a silent scream. A quick inspection of the still-warm body revealed that the crimson-stained vest had a clean cut through to the flesh. Metcalfe’s death had not been easy. Had Eugenia seen the body?

“Holy Mother of God,” Charlie whispered over Jamie’s shoulder. “What happened?”

Icy cold pierced Jamie’s heart. “Where is Eugenia?”

“Inside. I calmed her, told her to say nothing, and took her to the Thayers with instructions not to leave the ballroom. Then I came to find you.”

“She told you Henley—”

Charlie nodded and knelt beside him. “Shall I assume he melted into the night as is his wont?”

He gave his brother a rueful smile. “Not quite. He stole Grenleigh’s prize stallion.”

“Not very sporting of him, was it?”

He ignored the attempt at levity. “He had her, Charlie. God only knows what would have happened….” He looked down at Metcalfe’s body again, knowing that Henley had planned something of the same sort for her.

“But he doesn’t have her now,” Charlie said in a deadly calm voice. “And we shall see to it that he never has that chance again. Meantime, we will have to inform Wycliffe and our erstwhile host. ‘Twould seem the party is over.”

“Not yet.” Jamie passed his hand over Metcalfe’s face to close his eyes before he stood. “Let me take Eugenia and the Thayer girls away first. I need to talk to her before the Home Office interrogates her. And the Thayers do not need to be a part of this. My carriage should be waiting around front. Once I have them home, I will come back and we shall handle this as discreetly as possible. Oh, and tell Grenleigh he’ll have to find other transportation tonight, will you?”

Charlie helped him arrange the branches again to shield Metcalfe’s body from immediate discovery. “You know what this means, do you not?”

“That Henley is growing bolder. And that boldness must be a measure of his desperation.”

“He will only escalate from here. He’ll get careless and, sooner or later, we will catch him.”

Jamie clenched his fists. “He’ll come after Eugenia again.”

“And you, Jamie. He has already tried to stop you, and he won’t quit now.”

Gina hid behind her vivid yellow mask, careful to betray no outward sign of distress, though she’d been seething with suppressed anxiety. Where was James? Had Henley used his knife? Was James dead in an alley somewhere? And how had Henley known where to find her?

Hortense and Harriett had been teeming with questions when they’d seen how shaken she was. She’d settled for a version of the truth, telling them only that she’d been accosted in the gardens by a man in a costume. They had steadfastly flanked her since that moment, refusing dances and making inconsequential conversation to cover Gina’s lack of attention.

She could only watch the terrace doors and pray that James was safe.

She nearly collapsed with relief when she saw him come through the terrace doors and scan the ballroom until he caught sight of her. But the look on his face was not reassuring as he came directly to their little group. She managed a smile as he approached, certain he would not want her to give their business away.

Hortense sighed when he offered a slight bow. “Oh, here you are! Did you catch him?”

He glanced at Gina and she knew he was wondering how much she had told them. “I told Hortense and Harriett about the stranger who accosted me in the gardens before you arrived in time to rout him.”

“To be accosted in such a manner by a complete stranger!” Harriett said with an indignant look on her pretty face. “I told Gina we should report the incident to Mr. Morris at once, but she would not hear of it until you came back.”

He gave Gina a slight nod of approval, clearly relieved that she’d prevented the twins from spreading alarm though the gathering. “I will take care of that presently,” he told them. “But first I think I should take you home. I would be remiss in my duty as your escort to allow you to be present if there should be any problems.”

“Do you really think there will be problems? Could that dreadful man yet be lurking in the gardens?” Hortense asked.

“I believe I frightened him off.” He cast a reassuring glance in Gina’s direction. “But we should not take any chances. I’ve had my carriage brought round.”

Harriett sighed, whether in relief or disappointment, she could not guess. “You are too kind, sir,” she said.

They made a quiet exit and were safely on their way before any fuss could be made. The Thayer home was their first stop, and James handed the twins down from the carriage with a courtly flourish. Both girls thanked him graciously and quickly promised him dances the following night.

He settled himself beside Gina as the carriage started off again. Before she could ask, he posed a question of his own.

“Did he hurt you?”

She removed her mask and sighed. Where she had once been uncomfortable with James, she was now relieved to be alone with him. She hadn’t realized the strain she’d been under to keep her composure until that very moment.

“He was going to break my neck. When he saw you, he said he had a knife. What happened when you went after him? I was so afraid you’d fought and that he …” She began to shiver, unwilling to even entertain the notion that James might not have returned to her. That Henley could have killed him.

He took her hand between his to stop her trembling. “He’d stolen a horse and gotten away before I got to the stables.”

She frowned. “But you were gone so long.”

“There’s more, Eugenia. I have been searching for a man who could have helped us find Henley. Stanley Metcalfe. I found him dead beneath some bushes when I was returning to the house.”

Dead? But she’d just danced with him. There must be some mistake. “Are you certain it was Mr. Metcalfe?”

“He’d been knifed. I wanted you safely away before anyone could question you. Should anyone ask, you know nothing about the entire affair.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “I danced with him. He warned me that Henley wanted to kill me.”

“Metcalfe?” he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice. “Was this something to do with your search for Henley?”

“I…I was to meet him tonight. To persuade him to help me. He’d been hiding from Mr. Henley, afraid to appear in public. Oh, I wish he’d never come to meet me.”

“I didn’t see you dance with him, Eugenia.”

The tone of his voice should have warned her. “He was dressed as a leper. But he disappeared so quickly after our dance that I was unable to question him further.”

“Leper? Was that not the costume Henley was wearing when he attacked you?”

She nodded. “I thought he was Mr. Metcalfe. I thought he’d come back to tell me …”

James groaned. “Blast it all! Henley killed Metcalfe and stole his costume to get close to you before you discovered who he was. But what did Metcalfe have to tell you?”

The hidden key burned its impression into the soft flesh of her bosom. If she told James about it, he would take it from her. He was so stubbornly determined to protect her from herself that she could not trust him. “Something more,” she improvised. “Perhaps where to find Mr. Henley. Or where he is living.”

“How did you draw him out of hiding?”

“Miss Race. His fiancée. She interceded for me. He was dreadfully afraid of Mr. Henley. He said he knew something that Mr. Henley would kill him for.” Suddenly the horror of the situation struck her. “Oh! Miss Race! She will be devastated. I should go to her. Be with her when she hears the awful news.”

“Did she come with him?”

“She came with friends. Mr. Metcalfe was in the habit of meeting her wherever she went.”

“Then she would best hear it tomorrow in the privacy of her own home. But think carefully, Eugenia. Did Metcalfe say what he knew?”

“That is not the sort of thing I’d be likely to forget, sir. No. He did not tell me what it was.”

He cupped her cheek and turned her face to his. “Now I’ve made you angry. That wasn’t my intention.”

She flinched at his touch. “I dislike being interrogated as if I’ve done something wrong.”

“Wrong? No, Eugenia. But you’ve done something reckless and dangerous. You’ve put yourself at risk when you’ve promised you wouldn’t. Ask questions. That’s what you said you were going to do.”

Gina’s conscience tweaked her. That was all she’d done. So far. But she’d made plans to do more with Ned. She would have to meet him tomorrow night and beg off. The incident with Henley had shaken her more than she’d wanted to admit.

James ran his thumb over her lower lip, his voice deadly calm. “‘Tis swollen, Eugenia. Did Henley steal a kiss?”

“He had his hand over my mouth. He was dragging me away from the arbor.” To kill her and leave her body beside Mr. Metcalfe’s, no doubt.

He leaned forward slowly, giving her time to turn away. But she couldn’t. His mouth was soft and gentle as he cherished her lower lip before took her whole mouth in a kiss no less exciting than those that had come before, but somehow more comforting, reassuring.

The carriage stopped in front of Andrew’s house, jolting her out of the hypnotic hold James had over her. Slowly, and with a heavy sigh, he released her scant moments before the driver opened the door. He got out and offered his hand to help her down.

“Are you returning to the masque?”

“Yes. Charlie is waiting and we will need to inform Mr. Morris that there is a dead body in his garden. He has likely sent for Wycliffe already.”

“You will let me know what happens?”

“Tomorrow.” He took her arm, walked her to the door and waited while she rummaged for her key in her reticule. He took it from her and unlocked the door. “Good evening, Eugenia,” he said as he opened the door.

She stepped into the foyer and stopped. At least eight crates were stacked floor to ceiling just inside the door. Suddenly she could not breathe. Had Mama found early passage?

“Eugenia? What …”

Alerted by her sudden halt, he followed her into the foyer. “You did not mention you were leaving,” he said after a moment.

“I did not know.” She turned and looked at him. “Mama must have found an earlier departure.”

“When?”

She shook her head. “She did not say a word to me. Passage must have become available suddenly.”

He looked at her and she knew there was something he wanted to say, but he merely bowed, turned on his heel, and closed the door behind him as he departed.

The thought of Mr. Henley escaping justice haunted her, but the realization that she might never see James again tore at her heart. How had she let things go so far? How had she let herself love James?

She could not change one, but she could do something about the other. There was no more time for fear or hesitation. Tomorrow she would meet Ned as planned, and she would do whatever she must to bring Henley’s reign of terror to an end.

As he climbed back in his carriage and gave his driver instructions to return to the masquerade, cold fury gripped Jamie’s viscera. Once again, Henley had damaged Eugenia. Once again, Jamie had failed to protect her. But any qualms he’d had about killing Henley to prevent a public trial had disappeared the instant he’d seen her swollen lip and the tiny bruise on one side of her throat. The knowledge that Eugenia had been so close to death horrified and angered him. Henley would pay for that.

Even more unsettling was the realization that his time with Eugenia was over. She would be gone from London and from his life. And the emptiness would return—the mindless, meaningless affairs, the endless days and nights, the soul-deep loneliness that no amount of friends or family could fill. Since he’d met her, the emptiness had receded and been filled with memories of her voice, her eyes, the warmth of her skin, the lushness of her mouth and the sweetness of her sighs.

No doubt it was for the best. He’d take that post with the Foreign Office. He’d lose himself in service to the king. Somewhere, he’d find a meaning for his hitherto wasted life.

On his arrival back at the masquerade, Lord Marcus Wycliffe was waiting for him in the foyer. “Charlie is with Mr. Morris in his private study. I said we’d join them as soon as you arrived.”

Jamie nodded, noting that the orchestra still played and that guests were still strolling the rooms. “Has he told you what’s afoot?”

Wycliffe rolled his eyes heavenward as he led Jamie down a corridor to Morris’s study. “Just that there is a body in the garden.”

Jamie nodded as Wycliffe knocked and opened the study door. Charlie and Mr. Morris turned to them, and Jamie noted the strained look on Morris’s face. Without asking, Charlie went to a sideboard and a bottle of brandy to pour two more glasses.

“Now that we’re all here, someone damn well better tell me what is going on here,” Morris said.

Jamie took a glass from his brother. “I suppose Charlie told you there’d been an incident in the gardens?”

“And that’s all he’d say until you and Wycliffe arrived. I thought I saw you earlier.”

“I took the young woman in question home. I thought you’d want to keep this as quiet as possible.”

“What, damn it all? What should I keep quiet?”

“One of your guests was assaulted.”

“What? Who?”

“Miss O’Rourke. Rest assured, she is well and safely home. I cannot say the same for one of your other guests.”

“Damn cryptic of you, Hunter.”

“First, I wanted to see your guest list and ask if you spoke with Cyril Henley tonight?”

Morris reluctantly riffled through his desk drawer, brought forth a list of names three pages long. “Henley? I haven’t seen him for months. I do not think he was invited tonight.”

Since Morris did not seem willing to turn the guest list over, Jamie leaned forward and took it. He scanned the names until he found one he was looking for. Oddly, Henley had been invited, but so had Metcalfe. And that raised the question, why had Morris lied? He would have been the one to provide his wife with the specific names of friends he wanted invited.

“I encountered Henley in the garden,” he said. “He was the man who assaulted Miss O’Rourke.”

“Henley …” Morris flushed with a look half angry, half disbelieving. “Why would he assault Miss O’Rourke?”

Morris had to be aware of Henley’s reputation with women. “His reasons aside, Miss O’Rourke recognized him. He wore a leper’s costume to mask his identity. What of Stanley Metcalfe?”

“Er, yes. I believe Metcalfe was invited.”

“He, too, wore a leper’s costume. Miss O’Rourke danced with him. When Henley approached her in the garden, she thought it was Metcalfe.”

“But what has that to do with anything?”

“I chased Henley to the stables where he stole Grenleigh’s stallion and got away.”

“Grenleigh? Hell and damnation! He’ll have my hide.”

Charlie gave a grim laugh. “He is not too pleased, but I lent him mine. I warrant the horse will turn up in a day or two. Henley will not keep anything that would give his identity or location away.”

Morris drank the entire contents of his glass in a single gulp. “So this is it, then? Henley assaulted a girl who is safely home and took Grenleigh’s prize stallion which will turn up in a day or two?”

“Alas, there’s more to it than that. When I came back through the garden after chasing Henley, I stumbled across Mr. Metcalfe. He’d been stabbed in the chest and hidden in the bushes behind the arbor.”

“Is he all right?”

“Afraid not, Morris. He’s dead. The question is, how shall we handle this unfortunate event?”

Morris’s mouth moved but did not form any intelligible words.

Wycliffe finished his brandy and slammed his glass down on the sideboard with a resounding thud. “Metcalfe. Damnation! Another lead silenced.”

“So my question is this,” Jamie continued, determined to get to the bottom of the matter. “Where did you send Henley’s invitation, and when did you last talk to him?”

“I…I…He came to me. Here. He’d heard about the masquerade and wanted to attend. ‘Twas he who asked me to put Stanley Metcalfe on the guest list. I did not see him tonight.”

So Henley had devised this plan to get at Metcalfe. Poor bastard. He’d never had a chance. But there was still another question. “Why would you oblige a man like Henley? Surely you’ve heard the rumors.”

If Morris had looked uncomfortable before, he now looked as if he were about to flee. “He was blackmailing me. I…I was present at Daschel’s passion play. Or that’s what I thought it was. It was actually a—”

“We know what it was,” Wycliffe interrupted. “So he was threatening to expose you if you did not do as he asked?”

Morris acknowledged with a curt nod.

“There’s more,” Jamie guessed.

“I’ve been paying him. Large sums of money.”

“How?”

“He waits outside my club. Demands cash.”

Cash. Large sums of it. Why would Henley need large sums of money when he was living in Whitefriars? And was Morris the only one from whom he was extorting funds?

Morris was a member of Brooks’s, an elegant establishment in St. James Street. Henley would have to lurk in the shadows to avoid being recognized, but it could be useful to set a watch on the place. A glance at Wycliffe and Charlie told him that they were thinking the same thing.

“Are you going to arrest me?” Morris asked Wycliffe.

“If you were no more involved with the Brotherhood than you say, Morris, you needn’t worry. If you were…we’ll be back. At the moment we need to deal with the damage done tonight.

“The guests are beginning to leave. We will keep this quiet until tomorrow. Charlie, go to the arbor and make certain no one stumbles across Metcalfe meanwhile. Morris, encourage the guests not to linger. Remove the punch bowl and cork the wine bottles.”

“They will think I am penurious!” Morris blustered.