Seduce Me (25 page)

“Do you honestly believe I’ll simply hand it over to you because you asked nicely?” Fielding replied. He mentally counted
to ten. It would do him no good for his uncle to see him lose his temper. “Perhaps you don’t recall our history together,
but I no longer work for you.” Fielding did nothing to hide the loathing in his voice.

“I remember everything,” he said slowly. “You would not be where you are today were it not for me.”

“Leave Esme alone. Your fight is with me.”

The Raven stood, leaning over the ornately carved desk. “What is so special about this woman? You’ve never given a damn about
anyone but yourself.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with her,” Fielding said.

“That’s not true, though, is it?” The Raven chuckled. “You care about her, don’t you? But let me give you a piece of friendly
advice: Don’t be so naive.” He rose to his full height. “Simply because you happened upon Miss Worthington and played Galahad
to her Guinevere does not make you a hero. Honestly, Fielding, you don’t wear it well.”

His uncle was, of course, right. He was no hero, and he had proved as much last night. Taking Esme to his bed when he had
no intention of marrying her.

Fielding stood his ground and said nothing.

“If you think I don’t know what you’re up to, boy, you’re an even bigger idiot than I imagined.” He jammed a finger onto his
desk. “Don’t believe for one moment that I don’t know every decision you’re going to make before you make it.”

Fielding took a step back. He never should have come here today. This meeting was nothing more than an opportunity for his
uncle to toy with him as he’d always done. Fielding was a grown man now, and he no longer had to play the manipulated nephew
for his uncle’s games. “You know nothing about me,” he said, his voice so forceful he barely recognized it. “And I owe you
nothing.”

“Ungrateful,” the Raven muttered. “Just as Waters is ungrateful. Should that man ever come crawling back to me, he will find
himself on the wrong end of my temper.” He took his seat again and lit another cigar.

So Fielding’s suspicions had been right: Waters had not returned to the Raven.

“Do you know who hired me to find that damned box?” The Raven’s tone was once again calm.

Fielding remained silent.

“The nephew to the king of Prussia. Evidently one of his advisers told him if he secured that box, he could rule all of Prussia.”
The Raven laughed. “So the fool contacted me to find it for him.”

“What is he paying you?” Fielding asked.

“That’s the beauty.” His uncle leaned forward as if they were as they used to be, friends sharing a conversation. “Once he’s
king, he’ll grant me an island off in the Caribbean where I can rule as I so choose.”

“An island,” Fielding repeated.

“It was an agreement I made before I knew the box actually had powers. I do believe I’ll have to renegotiate our settlement,”
the Raven said.

“What are you planning to do?” Fielding asked, knowing full well it was a futile question.

His uncle flashed a smile. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

“I’m not giving you the box.”

“I don’t want to hurt her, but I will if I have to. Let’s see—” He scratched his cleanly shaven chin. “What curse does she
wear?” He pretended to read through some notes on his desk.

“If you come anywhere near Esme again, I’ll kill you.” Fielding turned to go.

The Raven’s dark laughter filled the room. “Don’t be so dramatic, Fielding. You and I can come to an agreement.”

Fielding stopped; his hand remained on the doorknob. But he said nothing.

“How about you come back to work with me. It will be as it used to be, you and I traveling all over the world. Together we
can make new fortunes. And we can uncover what truly happened to your father that fateful day. I know you long to know, long
to make someone pay.”

Fielding’s hand tightened on the knob as he fought the urge to turn back and wrap his fingers around his uncle’s throat.

“Come back to me, and I’ll leave Miss Worthington unharmed.” The Raven’s voice was slick.

It would be so easy. Make a deal with the devil and protect Esme.

“My offer won’t last forever,” his uncle said.

“Go to hell,” Fielding said. He didn’t bother closing the door on his way out.

He had the driver take him back to his own house instead of Max’s. He needed some time to himself. Time to decide what to
do next. His house was deserted, which suited Fielding’s foul mood.

Though his servants had done their best to restore his home and clean everything, there were still signs of his uncle’s men
having been there. Broken windows were covered, yet not repaired. His father’s collection of Roman urns, which had taken Fielding
four years to track down after they’d been sold to pay off debts, had been destroyed. Bits of the broken pottery lay scattered
in the open hearth.

Fielding collapsed onto a red-velvet Chippendale sofa. He’d been a fool to think he could ever dissuade his uncle from something
the man wanted. Somehow, though, Fielding had hoped there was enough humanity left in the Raven to keep Esme safe. It appeared
that Fielding had grossly underestimated him.

To make matters worse, it had become abundantly clear that despite his efforts to the contrary, Fielding was more like his
uncle than he cared to admit. The Raven had guessed Fielding’s plan to make Solomon’s pay for his father’s death because that’s
exactly what the Raven would have done.

Perhaps revenge was wrong; perhaps he would go too far. But Fielding needed to know what happened to his father. More important,
he wanted to know who was responsible. There had been two other members of Solomon’s with him that day; both of those men
had escaped the cave unharmed.

Fielding had been given an opportunity to discover their identities through his new association with Solomon’s, and he’d allowed
Esme to cloud his mind. He’d almost lost sight of his goal. But he’d ignore it no longer. Tonight he would go to Solomon’s
and uncover the information he needed, but first he would try once again to locate Waters.

A
tankard crashed to the floor. The noise shattered Fielding’s thoughts. Once again he sat in the dank pub, watching and waiting
for an opportunity to find Waters. It wasn’t his prime reason for going out tonight. No, that would happen in another hour
when Solomon’s closed for the night and Fielding could sneak inside. He knew from previous conversations with his father that
Solomon’s kept meticulous records on their members. Somewhere in that club, he would find out who was responsible for his
father’s death.

Fielding had left Esme at home, and to prevent her from following he’d enlisted Max’s help. As it turned out, the man was
rather useful. The marquess had agreed to host a dinner party in Esme’s honor—thus forcing her to oblige the invitation—and
he’d invited several would-be suitors. As much as that thought left a bitter taste in Fielding’s mouth, he’d reconciled himself
to the situation. Courtship was an experience she’d never had, and he wanted her, if for only one night, to experience it.

He suspected right now she was sitting with two wealthy gentlemen on either side of her, complimenting her on her beautiful
ivory complexion and her eyes the color of clover.

But none of them would see the intelligence glimmering in those green eyes. They would dismiss her witty comments as silliness.
Not notice the way she quietly smiled when she found something amusing but didn’t want to laugh.

Just then the serving girl stopped by his table with a drink. He’d ordered it when he arrived, although he had no intentions
of drinking anything here. There was no reason, though, to draw unnecessary attention to himself, and a man sitting without
the company of either alcohol or women would most definitely draw attention.

As the girl set down his mug, Fielding recognized her as the girl from the other night. “Where is everyone?” he asked. The
pub was close to empty with the exception of a scattered few.

When she turned to him, he could see weeping sores along her cheekbone and another cluster on her neck. “Everyone is sick.
Best you leave here, mister.” She glanced around. “Something ain’t right in here no more.” She moved away from him, scuttling
behind the bar and disappearing.

At that very moment, Waters stepped into the pub. He glanced around the room, then rapidly made his way to the bar.

Fielding pulled his hat farther down on his face and shifted his stool deeper into the shadows.

Waters took a seat at a nearby table where he could watch the door. No doubt the man was on constant alert waiting for the
Raven to appear. “Minnie,” he yelled. “Get me a tankard.”

The girl brought him his ale, then quickly returned to the back room.

A man sitting at a table in the middle of the room screamed. He grabbed at his face and screamed again. Boils covered his
weatherworn skin and then started to appear on his forearms. The man stood and ran from the pub, still yelling.

Fielding pushed his glass of whiskey away from him and tightened his coat.

Another man erupted into a coughing fit that ended with him vomiting blood into his tankard.

The girl had warned him that everyone was sick. From the looks of it, they were covered with pustules and full of disease.

Fielding looked back at Waters, who appeared to be in excellent health as he absently sipped his ale. The gold bracelet shimmered
against Waters’s sleeve.

Greed, disease, hope, and lust, Fielding repeated to himself.
Disease
.

Waters wasn’t sick, though; instead he seemed the very picture of health.

Fielding wasn’t ill yet either, but no sense tempting the fates. He made his way out of the pub and into his rig.

Esme’s research had indicated the bracelets would curse the person wearing the bracelet. However, what if the books had been
wrong, and the bracelets instead plagued everyone but the wearer?

Years and years he’d hunted antiquities; he’d walked into tombs that promised certain death and caves from which no one had
ever escaped before him. Nearly every legendary antiquity or hidden treasure came with some kind of warning or curse, none
of which he’d ever seen come to fruition.

But the bands from Pandora’s box—they were real. They had to be. He’d seen it with his own eyes.

Had he too been affected by the curse? Was that why his desire for Esme ran so strong, why he couldn’t resist her charms?
He’d tried. Tried not to respond to her wanton behavior, but he’d failed miserably every time.

Slowly she’d worn away at his defenses, shown him that he could be a better man. He’d even begun to understand his own father
more after seeing Esme’s passion for Pandora’s box. Fielding knew he didn’t deserve her, but perhaps she’d have him regardless.
Perhaps it was time for him to marry.

Or perhaps he was merely the victim of a centuries-old curse.

The twenty-minute ride to Solomon’s ended abruptly, jarring Fielding from his thoughts. He had the driver drop him off a block
away in the alley behind the club’s buildings.

Fielding pulled his black coat closer to him, both to ward off the night chill and to shroud himself in darkness. The alleyway
was empty save for a stray cat that took one look at him and bolted in the other direction.

When Fielding came to the back entrance of the club, it took him only a moment to work his way around the lock and crack open
the door. He stood in the entryway for several breaths, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness within.

Quietly he made his way through the back of the building and up to the room where he’d first met with Jensen and the others.
Without light, the room seemed much larger, like a cave beckoning. Fielding searched the space, looking for the club’s records
book, but found no trace of the log.

Perhaps it was kept behind the closed door at the opposite end of the room. Fielding found the door unlocked. He had taken
two steps into the room when a light flickered on.

“Good evening, Mr. Grey. I’ve been wondering when you’d come for a visit.”

Esme knew that Fielding was behind tonight’s impromptu dinner party. He was trying to keep her occupied while he went off
on an adventure, blast him. But as the guest of honor she could do nothing about it. His underhanded way of keeping her home
was vexing, but she supposed he was only trying to protect her. Yet what use had she for dinner parties and social engagements?
Such things had never interested her, even before the debacle with the Duke of Devonshire. Attending one now, when she was
the victim of a curse and it seemed as though the fate of the world hung in the balance, seemed even more futile.

Still, she had to attend, so she’d donned her new gown and Annette had styled her hair. Though the girl had tried her best
to convince Esme to wear her curls up, Esme had won; a proper dinner party was no place to showcase her tattoos, temporary
though they were. She had allowed the girl to weave in a hairpin with two plumes that perfectly matched the blue in her gown.