A Murder in Time (59 page)

“No!” Rebecca grasped his arm.

“Becca!”

“No! You don't understand! It isn't Thomas. It's Morland.
Morland is the monster!
” she shouted at him.

“You're mistaken, Becca. We've been to the hermit's shack. We've seen his madness!”

“He assisted Morland.”

Aldridge and Sam jogged over. “How do you know this?” Aldridge asked.

Rebecca swung around to look at the Duke. “G-Gabriel. Gabriel told me.”

Alec grabbed her by the shoulders. “Gabriel
knew
?”

“Yes. No. Oh, hell and damnation! There is no time to explain! He told me that Morland has a club, like the Hell Fire Club. There's a cave on Morland's property. Gabe has gone there now. He believes that's where Thomas may have brought Miss Donovan. Oh, dear God, Alec . . . you must save her!”

“Where is this cave?”

“I do not know! Captain Harcourt may be able to take you there. He and Gabriel attended the club together. That's where they were the first night of the house party.”

Aldridge frowned. “Where is Harcourt now?”

Rebecca dashed anxious tears from her eyes. “Most likely preparing to leave.”

Alec didn't wait. He ran toward the castle, nearly knocking down several servants who were in his way. “Harding!” he shouted when he saw the butler ahead of him, in conference with Mrs. Danbury.

“Sir?”

“Where is Captain Harcourt? What room is he in?”

“He shared a bedroom with Mr. Digby. In the east wing, second floor. I will send for—”

“Bloody hell. No time.” He grabbed the startled butler's arm and shoved him forward. “Show me!”

66

Kendra closed her eyes and held her breath, expecting to feel the deadly kiss of the blade as it eviscerated her. Instead, she felt a tug, and then heard the ripping of cloth.

Another kind of horror seized her as cold air washed over her, pebbling her skin.

“You son of a bitch!” The chains rattled again as she jerked her arms in a primordial response. Yet no shot of adrenaline could give her the strength to break free of the shackles. The steel cut into her wrists, but she didn't care. Panic overwhelmed her. “You fucking bastard!”

Morland laughed. “Such language. You are not a Lady, Miss Donovan.”

“I'm going to fucking kill you!”

“I rather doubt that, Miss Donovan.”

He continued to work his way through the fabric, leaving her breasts exposed. Her skin crawled. Her breath came out in harsh pants. She wanted to scream, needed to release some of the horror building inside her. Above her head, her fingers curled helplessly into fists she had no chance of using.

She thought of Rose, of Lydia, of all the girls who'd endured this same gut-wrenching fear—the knowledge that before death, there would be rape and torture. Was there a worse nightmare for a woman?

As the knife whispered down her body, her earlier thought about using her legs to snap the bastard's neck came rushing back. If she could scissor her legs up, she might have a chance to incapacitate him. Maybe even make him a paraplegic. The odds were not in her favor, but she couldn't lay there without at least trying to fight back. She would have only one chance.

But even as she braced herself, Morland suddenly stopped, and cocked his head, his expression intent. Kendra watched, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. After a moment, he shifted his gaze back to her. Her stomach clenched as his eyes ran over her exposed torso. He smiled. “If you will pardon me, my dear, I shall only be a moment . . .”

Stunned, Kendra watched Morland turn and walk out of the room. She had a brief moment of euphoria at the unexpected reprieve. But that vanished quickly. Unless a miracle happened, he'd be coming back. She couldn't count on a miracle.

Needing a better look at the shackles, she twisted her head. She yelped at a sharp pain at the back of her head.
Fucking hairpins!

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Her head was already aching from the blow she'd received, and she was waiting for a serial killer to come back to torture her.
Now
she was being skewered from the damn hairpins, because Molly had insisted on putting her hair up that morning.

Then she felt the thrill of exhilaration all the way down to her toes—
the hairpins.

67

Morland watched from the shadows as Gabriel bent down and picked up the gold chalice that he'd accidentally kicked against the cavern wall—that was the noise Morland had heard. He didn't understand why Gabriel was here, and he didn't like it. Anger heated his blood at this unexpected complication.

Today had been nothing but goddamn complications, beginning with Thomas abducting the American. That had not been part of his plan. At least, not yet. He'd wanted to watch first, to observe the weeping and wailing over the little maid's demise.

Thomas's stupidity infuriated him. He'd known for a while now that he'd have to kill the fool, though he hadn't planned to kill him so soon. But, in truth, that was the one unexpected development that would work in his favor. Yes, it would work out very well indeed.

In the future, of course, he would have to be more cautious. Sutcliffe or the Duke might even take it upon themselves to keep watch in London. Should whores go missing, it could mean a new investigation. He might consider buying a town house in Bath. Or Edinburgh—no one would care if Scottish whores began vanishing. Unfortunately, that would require him to actually spend time in that barbaric country.

Morland shook his head. That debate was for later. Now, he must take care of his unforeseen visitor.

He announced his presence, stepping out of the corridor into the larger cavern. “Lord Gabriel.” The younger man gave a surprised start, swinging around to face him. Morland smiled, moving forward, closing the space between them. “We have no fête planned. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I . . . I came to find Miss Donovan.” Gabriel swallowed nervously, his gaze bouncing around the cavern.

Morland laughed. “My dear boy, do you honestly believe I am having an assignation with Lady Rebecca's companion?”

“I . . . I beg your most humble apology, sir. I was actually hoping to find Thomas . . .” Gabriel's voice trailed away when his gaze fell on Morland's hands. He frowned.

Morland followed his gaze and let out a sigh. “Oh, dear. It would appear that I have Thomas's blood on me.”

Gabriel stared at him in confusion. “Thomas's blood?”

He smiled. “Yes. But I suppose there really is no point in wiping it off . . .”

In the blink of an eye, Morland had the knife out of his pocket, and was thrusting the blade into Gabriel's gut, twisting, as he stared down into the younger man's shocked eyes.

“Really no point at all,” Morland murmured.

Kendra scooted up the bed, pushing herself as far as she could into a half-sitting, half-reclining position. It was an awkward angle, straining her arms, but she managed to just graze the back of her head with her fingertips. She tried to relax her muscles as she maneuvered her body up another inch, grateful for the years of yoga practice. The iron manacles bit viciously into her wrists as she moved her hands, but she ignored the pain, and the warm blood that trickled down her arms. Her fingers felt swollen and numb, both from the pressure of the restraints and having her arms above her head.

Tilting her head down so that her chin pressed into her chest, she continued to twist her hands until her fingers dug into the soft coil at the base of her neck. Gritting her teeth, she rooted around and nearly wept with relief when her finger touched the top of one hairpin. She managed to pinch the top of it with her index finger and thumb, and slowly extracted it.

She couldn't see the handcuffs, although she knew from their size and weight that she wasn't dealing with a brand she was familiar with. Still, if there was a lock, she'd be able to pick it—she just needed time.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to block everything out. Slowly, she maneuvered the hairpin around until it struck the iron of the manacles, and she then began to tap blindly along the metal, learning its shape, trying to determine its mechanical structure.

She froze when the point of the pin suddenly snagged against the microscopic grain in the iron, bobbling. In reaction, her hand flexed, and she tried to squeeze her thumb and index finger around the pin's head. Her attempt to control the slender wire was clumsy. She could feel it sliding.

She let out a sob as the hairpin slithered out of her grasp, dropping soundlessly to the bed, out of reach.

68

Alec didn't bother to knock—he simply barged into Harcourt's room. The captain had been stuffing a shirt into his satchel, but now whirled around, eyes widening in alarm at the sudden intrusion.

“My Lord? What is amiss?”

“I need you to take me to where Morland holds his club!”

“I-I do not know—”

Furious, Alec shot forward, slamming the other man into the armoire. He pressed his arm into Harcourt's throat.
“Don't bloody lie to me, Harcourt!”

“Alec!” The Duke and Sam rushed into the room.

Alec didn't take his eyes off Harcourt. “The bastard's got Kendra. We're wasting time!”

Harcourt made a strangled sound, his hands trying to push away the arm cutting off his air supply.

“I know you attended Morland's club, Harcourt.” Alec eased back, allowing the other man to breathe again. “You will take me there.
Now
.”

Gabriel crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach. His waistcoat was already soaked crimson. Blood oozed from between his fingers.

The wound was mortal, Morland knew. He stared down at the young fool and felt the rage rise inside him again. He felt no remorse over killing the man, but was upset that circumstance—not desire—had forced him to take the action. He walked in circles, struggling to control his fury. By the third loop, his vision no longer misted red.

He'd have to get rid of Gabriel, of course. It shouldn't be too difficult. He wouldn't be careless like Thomas; there would be no mistakes. The thought calmed him.
I'm in control.

“Please . . .” Gabriel moaned. He was shaking, his eyes glazed with pain and shock.

Morland flicked him a dispassionate look. He could finish him off by slitting his gullet, but that would be too easy a death for someone who'd caused him such annoyance. Saying nothing, he turned on his heel, retracing his footsteps down the rough-hewn corridor.

The pressure in his chest eased even more when he pushed open the door, his gaze fixing on Kendra. She was older than his preference, but she was the right size and coloring. Anticipation flooded him as he approached the bed.

“I apologize for the delay, my dear,” he said, shrugging out of his coat. His hand went to his cravat, loosening it. “You and I are going to have a lovely time. I must say that I am quite looking forward to it.”

His gaze slid hungrily over her partially exposed breasts, traveled up the slender column of white throat. He was annoyed that there were marks on it already. Bruises not caused by him.

Still, he smiled as he lifted his gaze to meet her dark eyes, expecting to see fear, the gleam of tears. They did hold a gleam. But it wasn't terror or tears—it was rage.

Her mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. “Fuck you, Morland.”

She came up swinging.

69

Adrenaline sizzled through Kendra as she sprang from the bed, swinging the one-pound chain like a medieval flail. It struck Morland on the side of his face with a satisfying crack. His cheek split open, pouring blood. With a stunned howl of pain and rage, he stumbled back.

She swung the chain around again, but Morland's legs tangled with Thomas's body, and he was saved from another lash by falling on his ass.

The element of surprise was officially lost. Kendra launched herself at Morland, straddling him as she brought the chain up and around his throat. His face turned bright red, his eyes bulging, as he tried to loosen the yoke. Apparently realizing she had the advantage, he eventually let go and began punching her on the side of her head.