If He's Sinful (35 page)

He met Olympia hurrying into her coat in the front hall. “Do you know what the trouble is?” he asked her as he donned his coat.

“No,” she answered as they ran out to her waiting carriage. “I just feel her fear. And”—she took a deep breath—“at least one of the boys has been hurt.”

It was not until they were seated and the carriage racing toward the Wherlocke Warren that Ashton asked, “You cannot tell how badly or where the danger is coming from?”

Olympia closed her eyes for a moment. “Charles. It is Charles. And I think two of the boys have been hurt but neither very badly.” She looked at Ashton. “It ends today.”

He pushed aside a shiver of primal superstition at the look in the woman’s sky blue eyes. Ashton took her at her word. He just wished he knew where it was coming from. Then he could apply his beloved reason to it all.

“There!” Olympia cried as she leaned out of the window. “’Tis cousin Leo riding to the Warren. And I think that is cousin Andras with him.”

As Ashton yanked the woman, he glanced out and saw two men on horses weaving their way precariously and swiftly through the throngs that always crowded the streets of London. “Do they have visions, too?”

“No. One of ours has been hurt. We all, well, feel it. I suspect young Chloe told Leo what he needed to know as she does have visions. It is the same as what brought Argus and I to London. A connection, if you will. I am of the belief that it was formed many years ago, when what we are was a very, very dangerous thing to be.”

That made a strange sort of sense. They were threatened as a whole, every one of their blood in constant danger of being denounced as a witch. A death sentence until recently. With their skills, developing some sort of warning that danger was near one of their own was merely a way to guarantee that at least some of their blood survived those dark times.

His thoughts swerved to Penelope. She was in danger and he was not reaching her side fast enough. He knew now that she had been protected by only one footman as he had seen Ned by the carriage. That would have allowed Charles a very good chance of getting to her.

Nothing could happen to her, he told himself. Fate could not be so unkind as to let him see what he could have and then snatch it away. He was so close to being free of the Hutton-Moores, either through gaining the money to pay them off or proving them guilty of serious crimes. Ashton wanted the chance to stand before Penelope, a man free of debt and with coin in his pockets. That dream was within his reach and he would not allow Charles or fate to deprive him of it.

The two men who had passed them on horses were already there when the carriage pulled to a halt before the Warren. Ashton nodded to both men, who were tending to the boys as Olympia introduced them. He noted that they both carried the mark of the family, that almost annoying handsomeness and that air of confident power. Ashton supposed one would have confidence if one came from a family that had survived centuries of persecution.

He wanted to race into the house to find Penelope but beat down that blind, primitive instinct. Seeing Ned tending to his brother, he moved to speak with them. He was astonished by how battered the big man was. Ashton had chosen the twins to protect Penelope and the boys because they were big and strong and excellent fighters. Yet it was apparent that someone had badly beaten Ted. It was hard to believe the elegant Charles capable of such a feat.

“He ain’t right in the head, m’lord,” said Ted. “You could see it in his eyes.”

“Just the one man then? Lord Charles Hutton-Moore?”

Ted nodded and winced. “Just the one. He may look a fine gent but he has done a lot of hard fighting, brawling, m’lord. I thought I was facing a gent and got me instead a groin-kicking, ear-biting, eye-gouging street tough. Confused me and all just enough for him to win.” He shook his head again and winced at the movement. “There truly be something wrong with the man. Something very wrong.”

“He is ill,” said Olympia as she moved to stand next to Ashton. “The boys say he spoke of how he is dying, of how he is rotting away. They also believe Charles was the one bitten by Killer. He has locked himself and Penelope inside her bedchamber.” She nodded when a carriage careened to a halt before the house. “Ah, here is Argus.” She hurried over to halt the new arrivals from storming the house, the other two men quickly joining her in the effort.

“You did well, Ted,” Ashton said. “I begin to think Charles had the added strength insanity can often bring.”

“M’lord, if the man truly believes he is dying, he has the strength of that, too. Man sure he is dying, well, he ain’t going to care what happens to him like most folk would. Ain’t got any fear left, does he.”

“No, he does not and that makes him very dangerous indeed.” Ashton strode over to where the Wherlockes were arguing about what to do. “We need a plan quickly,” he said. “As my footman just said, we have a man in there who believes he is dying so he has no more to fear, thinks he has no more to lose.”

“Bad. Very bad indeed,” said Argus. “I could try to convince him to let us in.”

“Do you not need your eyes for that?”

“I do but not always and even then it might do more harm than good. Delmar is a healer. He says Charles is right to believe he is dying, that he is rotting away with an infection. The boy says the poison has gotten into the man’s mind. It is, well, unpredictable to try to make a madman do as you will him to.”

“I can get you in,” said Jerome as he nudged his way into the circle of adults and older boys.

Ashton looked at the boy and then at the bandage on his thin arm. “You have been injured.”

“’Tis but a scratch and Septimus has already taken most of the pain away. Charles shot at us through the doors. Once into the parlor, and when we got out and went after Penelope, he shot at us again through her door. The first bullet skinned Delmar on the arm, the second skinned me. It will make no difference to what I can do.”

“And just what is that?”

“I can unlock that door. Been practicing. I got us out of the parlor and we were locked in there. If we do it that way, he will not even guess we are coming.”

“Andras and I will see if there is a way in through her window just in case you need help,” said Leo.

Watching the two men run off, Ashton had to wonder how they thought they could get in through the window without alerting Charles, but shrugged aside that concern. “Are you certain you can unlock the door without a key, Jerome?”

“I am, sir,” replied Jerome, “though I cannot say how quick I will be.”

“What do you need?”

“I have all I need right here.” Jerome tapped his head.

“Go,” said Argus. “I sent Septimus to fetch Dobson and I will wait here for now. If you fail and Leo and Andras fail, I will try to use my skill on the man.”

A cry of pain from inside the house convinced Ashton. He could wait no longer. With Jerome at his side, he entered the house and began to creep up the stairs. It occurred to him that, despite their gifts, the Wherlockes could be as helpless as anyone else in certain situations. Strangely enough, that comforted him even as it annoyed him that none of them had a skill that would be very useful at the moment. Unless, he mused, glancing at Jerome, the boy could do what he said he could.

Once outside the door to Penelope’s bedchamber, Ashton had to fight his urge to try to kick his way in. He could hear a struggle going on inside and soft cries of pain. There was a low voice to be heard as well and he suspected that was Charles. What the man was doing revealed his madness. There was no way he could kill Penelope now and get away with it. There were seven witnesses to his attack.

Jerome edged up beside him and stared at the keyhole. Ashton wished there was something he could see to tell him if the boy was successful or not. The only thing he had to judge that the boy was doing anything at all was the look of intense concentration on Jerome’s face and the unblinking stare the boy fixed upon the lock. Hearing what abuse his Penelope was suffering inside made it difficult to just crouch there beside the still, silent boy and wait.

He tensed as he heard a soft click. Jerome sagged a little and nodded. Ashton was almost afraid to touch the door latch. Afraid that the boy had failed and equally afraid that he had succeeded. To think of a child having such a skill was a little alarming. Cautiously he eased the latch down and his heart started to pound with hope and the promise of an upcoming battle. It was unlocked.

Penelope signed the will she had written and then swung around to stab Charles with the sharp end of the quill. He hissed a foul curse and swung his fist at her. She managed to elude a straight punch to the face but the hard fist connected painfully with the side of her head, causing her to fall from her chair. She scrambled out of his way when he lunged for her. The glint of the knife was all the impetus she needed to forget the throbbing in her head and fight for her life.

She ran for the window again. Just as she started to hurl herself out, Charles grabbed her by the skirts and reeled her back in. But as she had been hanging out of the window for that one brief moment, she had seen something that gave her hope. The faces of two of her cousins looking up at her. Her family was gathering, and if she could just stay alive long enough, she would be saved.

Her life with the boys had taught her how to fight and fight dirty simply through the number of squabbles she had broken up. Her brothers had even taught her a few things so that she could defend herself if she needed to. They were not enough to save her life from a madman if she were on her own, but she no longer was. All she needed was a little time.

Penelope began to use everything she could get her hands on to beat at Charles. She scratched, bit, kicked, and punched when he grabbed hold of her and threw things when she was free. Despite her efforts, he finally pinned her to the floor.

“What? No witch’s tricks to save yourself with?” Charles sneered, his mouth so smeared with blood from her fist that it made for a chillingly gruesome expression.

“I am not a witch,” she said. “You, however, are a thieving, murdering bastard.”

“Watch what you say, bitch.” He lightly caressed her throat with the flat side of the blade. “I am the man with the knife and now it is only to my benefit that you die.”

“What was it before? Anger?”
Keep him talking
, she thought, glancing toward the door and certain that she could see it opening.

“Fun.” He laughed. “I was annoyed that you had gotten away from me at Cratchitt’s but I also needed to put an end to all the prying your white knights were doing.”

“You cannot be so insane that you think you will not hang for this. There are witnesses this time, Charles. A lot of witnesses.”

“It does not matter. I am a baron. A bunch of little bastards and a servant cannot put the noose around my neck. As far as the authorities will be concerned, I will have been in Spain.”

“Paid liars will not free you of this murder charge.”

“Let us just put that to the test, shall we?” He raised the knife.

Penelope braced herself for the blow, praying she would see it coming in time to at least move out of its way enough to make the wound painful but not mortal. He leaned back enough to add strength to his blow and she found her hands free. She reached out to catch him by the wrist and struggled to stop the downward plunge of the knife.

Just as she feared she was not going to be rescued this time, two gunshots rang out. Charles’s body was flung back from hers. Penelope quickly scrambled out of the way even though every instinct she had told her the man was dead before he hit the ground. Then, suddenly, she found herself in Ashton’s arms and she clung to him.

“The boys,” she said. “He shot at the boys.”

“Jerome and Delmar got a little flesh wound on an arm,” Ashton said as he stroked her hair and watched Penelope’s cousins look over Charles. “Dead?”

“Quite thoroughly,” replied Leo Vaughn.

A moment later Dobson and some men showed up. He quickly took down all the notes he needed to report the crime and close the case. Ashton halted him as he began to leave, however.

“I think we need to go to Hutton-Moore House now,” he said.

It was the last place Penelope wanted to go, but she nodded. “Charles claimed the authorities would believe he was in Spain. There is a chance that he and Clarissa intended to slip out of the country as soon as he had rid himself of me.”

“And there may be more proof there of their crimes,” said Dobson, who was already striding out the door.

Penelope said a quick thank-you to her relatives as she and Ashton hurried after Dobson. She was not surprised to look out of the carriage window and see the adults in her family who had come to rescue her, along with her brothers, following them. The moment they pulled up in front of what would soon be the Wherlocke House again, she was glad of their company.

It was quiet in the house and there were trunks lining the hall ready to be packed into a carriage. Penelope suspected those trunks held a great deal more than clothes. It would be just like Clarissa and Charles to try and take all they could in case they were not able to return and claim her wealth. A wealth she was not sure of yet, she reminded herself as she followed Ashton up the stairs, both of them matching Dobson’s quiet steps.

Even before Dobson flung open the door to Clarissa’s bedchamber, Penelope had guessed what they would find. He had given her no time to speak, however, and the wide grin on his face told her that had been intentional. Clarissa was sitting astride a man, both of them naked and, for a moment, completely oblivious to the fact that they were no longer alone.