Seduce Me (29 page)

She truly loved him. After all, she had not been affected by the curse. She had no other excuse for her behavior.

All the things she’d done. Pressing herself against him, kissing him, sitting on his lap, all with no provocation on his part.

It mattered not that she had honestly believed herself to be under the power of the bracelet, unable to control her inner
desires. Had she been using the curse only as an excuse to behave as badly as she wanted? Had it been nothing other than some
secret wanton behavior she’d hidden away for years? Thank goodness she didn’t wear a band of anger; no telling what she would
have done.

She’d told him she loved him, and despite his reaction, despite the curse, she meant it. For a moment, she’d thought she’d
seen love shining in his eyes, but that had been nothing but a cruel trick of the fates. It had been nothing but his reaction
to the damned curse.

And that reaction did beg a certain question: Why had Fielding responded so strongly to her band, yet none of the other men
she’d encountered, such as Max or the men from the dinner party, had a similar reaction? Granted, she hadn’t acted the wanton
with anyone else; still, their lack of response was curious. Putting her bare feet to the floor, Esme contemplated what she
knew she had to do.

It was beyond time to remove this bloody band. Not only had she lost her heart, but with the upcoming eclipse, she was dangerously
close to losing her life as well.

F
ielding tightened his coat around him, making sure the diary was well hidden as he climbed the steps to the British Museum.
This time he had no intention of breaking in or staying past business hours. He could very well have simply sent the diary
back to them by post, anonymously, of course, but for Esme’s sake he wanted to return the book himself. Make certain it was
put back where they found it.

Using a fictitious name, he’d scheduled a meeting with the curator to discuss a potential donation. The diary weighed heavy
in his inner coat pocket. All he needed to do was cause some sort of distraction so he could deposit the book unseen.

It was the least he could do for her after he’d treated her so shabbily. He wanted to believe that she truly loved him, but
he knew it was only something she’d convinced herself of because of their circumstances. Hurting her now would be far better
than causing her pain every day over a lifetime together.

*   *   *

Esme was unsure of where Fielding had gone today, but his absence made her own plans all the easier. Mr. Nichols’s death meant
Mr. Brown was most certainly in danger. She’d received correspondence from him in this morning’s
Times
, and currently she was on her way to their meeting destination.

His note had suggested she go to the east corner of Hyde Park. She scanned the park benches but found no one who seemed to
be looking for her.

“Miss Worthington?” a voice came from behind her.

“Yes.” She turned to find a young man wearing a red-and-black livery standing there. He was fresh-faced and smiling warmly.

“I have your carriage ready,” he said. “Mr. Brown sent me.”

“He was supposed to meet me here in the park.” For one second she paused, uncertain if she should go. Mr. Brown had approached
Mr. Nichols regarding his research. Their correspondence had proved so mutually helpful that eventually Mr. Nichols had invited
him to join his ongoing cryptic discussions with Esme via the
Times
. If Mr. Nichols could trust him, then so could she.

“Yes, but my employer suggested it might be safer for you to discuss these delicate issues in a more private place.” The young
man gave her a sheepish grin. “I believe he’s actually too afraid to leave the house.”

Of course he was; he had good reason to be. It pleased her that he was heeding her warning. She nodded, then followed the
boy to the carriage. Two large steeds stomped impatiently.

Nearly twenty minutes later they traveled through two large iron gates on a drive that circled in front of a sprawling estate
just on the outskirts of London. Far enough from the city to take up more than just vertical space, it was as high as it was
wide. With its parapets and sharp towers, it looked ominous and foreboding as it stretched up to meet the heavy morning clouds.
Gargoyles watched over the grayish-green stone like little demons waiting to pounce.

She’d had no idea Mr. Brown was so wealthy. Or had such Gothic taste.

The carriage door was flung open, and a chilled wind swirled around her. She clutched her cloak tighter.

“Miss Worthington.” The driver held his hand out to her.

He ushered her safely inside a second before the clouds opened and rain fell in heavy sheets. “Thank goodness we made it inside
safely,” she said. But the boy had disappeared. In his place stood an elderly butler.

He gripped her arm and pulled her forward.

“Unhand me, sir.” Esme jerked her arm away from the short, crooked man. “I am quite capable of walking on my own.”

The old man gave her a disgusted look but allowed her to walk freely. She followed him through a long hall until they came
to some double-wood doors that opened into a large room. After she stepped inside, the nasty little man closed both doors
behind her. They shut with an echoing thud that mirrored the dread lying heavy in her stomach. Perhaps she should not have
come alone.

The plush Persian rug softened her steps as she walked farther into the room. Ornately carved chairs with more swirls and
curves than she could count sat scattered throughout the space. Their embellishments were enhanced by the garish blue-velvet
upholstery.

Slowly she walked the perimeter, scanning her environment. A mahogany desk, as ornamental as the chairs, took up most of the
back quarter of the room. Hanging directly behind the large piece of furniture was what looked to be a medieval sword; the
blade shimmered as if recently sharpened. A collection of smaller knives and daggers flanked the sword on every side. Evidently
her host had an appreciation for old weaponry.

She had just taken a seat when she glanced at the crest above the fireplace.

A large black bird on a red background.

Oh, God
. What had she done? She stood and started for the door.

“How nice of you to join me, Esme.” The Raven stepped out of the shadows. “Welcome to Black Manor. I rarely get visitors,
so this is a treat.”

She turned to face him. “How did you know I’d be in the park today?”

The expression that crossed his features was one of sheer disappointment. He turned his back to her and made his way to the
brandy tray.

“It’s been you all along. You’re Mr. Brown.” She sank back into the tightly padded chair. “That’s how you knew I had the key.”

“Because you told me,” he said, pointing his brandy snifter in her direction. “And there was that time in the library. You
told me all about your pendant.”

It
had
been him and she’d simply forgotten his face. She’d been a fool.

“I admit it did take some doing to uncover your true identity,” the Raven said. “Mr. Spencer only got me so far; clever of
you to use your father’s first name like that.”

“You killed Mr. Nichols,” she said. Her stomach turned over as she said it. This was her fault. All her fault.

“I’m afraid I did,” he said casually, as if he were admitting that he’d stolen the last biscuit.

“Are you to kill me as well?” She did her best to keep her tone even but knew she failed, knew he could smell her fear as
a predator sniffed out its prey. She shuddered.

“It is always a possibility, but I suspect it won’t come to that. Fielding does seem rather fond of you. Perhaps he’ll rescue
you.” He sipped his brandy, rolling it around on his tongue with obvious relish. “Yes, you’d make a tasty bit of cheese with
which to set my trap.”

“Is that what you’re counting on?” she asked. “That he’ll come here and make some sort of bargain with you to save me? I can
assure you that despite what you must believe, Fielding harbors no tender feelings toward me.”

“Well, then, perhaps I will have to kill you.” He stepped into the hall. She could hear him murmuring but could not decipher
any of his words. A moment later he reentered, this time with a familiar man following behind him.

“Ah, Miss Worthington, I believe you’ve met Thatcher.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Thatcher looked much as he had the night he’d kidnapped her. Dressed head to toe in black; long, unkempt hair tied at the
base of his neck. He winked at her lasciviously as he passed by.

How was she to get herself out of this mess? Panic began to claw its way through her belly, but she forced herself to calm
down. Hysterics had never solved anything. She needed her wits about her if she was to survive this. If the Raven had wanted
her dead, wouldn’t he have already killed her? Hoping that thought would soothe her nerves, Esme tried to lean back into the
vulgar chair.

The two men stood over by the sizable desk and talked quietly. She strained to hear what they were saying but couldn’t make
out their conversation.

The Raven bent down and retrieved a large rolled-up piece of parchment, perhaps a map of some sort, which he let spread across
the desk. Both men motioned to different places on the paper, but only the Raven spoke. Though she did her best to eavesdrop,
Esme was able to make out only the words
guards
and
majesty
.

Thatcher put both hands down and leaned forward casually. The gold band shimmered against his tan skin. She longed to get
close to it, read the inscription, but she didn’t dare move.

She wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. The Raven stopped talking and stared intently at the bracelet.

“Take it off,” he muttered.

Thatcher’s face pinched with confusion.

The Raven reached over and grabbed Thatcher’s arm; he tugged on the bracelet. “Why won’t it come off?”

“I told you, I’ve tried everything,” Thatcher said. He pulled his arm back.

Esme momentarily thought about volunteering the information Fielding had uncovered about the curse’s effect, but she decided
to keep it to herself.

“What are you planning to do?” Esme asked, still curious about the map.

“We have a brilliant plan,” Thatcher said. “We are going to—”

“Careful, Thatcher,” the Raven warned. The man’s eyes again were drawn to the bracelet.

It had to be greed, Esme realized. Every time the Raven saw the band, he couldn’t help looking at it. In the carriage, with
her own band, he hadn’t tried to take it off her, but he had touched her, more than once, perhaps afflicted with a touch of
lust in that short amount of time. And in the previous meeting with her, he’d seemed calm, as if he was utterly in control
of not only himself, but her as well. And now, it was the greed bracelet that was seducing him.

“You’ll have to wait and see what we’re going to do,” Thatcher continued. “We’ve got it all figured out, though. We—”

“
We?
” the Raven roared. “We? There is no we. This is my plan. And you work for me.” With the last word, he pulled the sword off
the wall and in one clean stroke brought it down onto Thatcher’s hand. Blood sprayed over the desk, creating a red-splotched
pattern across the map.

Thatcher howled in pain and fell to the floor, holding a bloody stump where his hand had been. Esme caught her own scream
as she pressed both hands to her mouth. Her heart raced to a degree she wasn’t certain would allow it to ever slow again.

“No we,” the Raven repeated. He plucked Thatcher’s hand from his desk. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.”

Esme watched in horror as the Raven tried to pull the bracelet off the severed hand, but as if there were an unseen barrier,
it would not budge.

Thatcher continued to scream in pain.

“Quiet!” the Raven growled.

Tears streaming down his face, Thatcher cradled his bloody arm to his chest and rocked back and forth against the desk.

The Raven swore loudly. “The bloody thing still won’t come off.” He stepped around the desk to loom over Thatcher. “You are
worthless,” he said. With one quick thrust, he sank the sword into Thatcher’s chest.

This time Esme was not able to silence her own scream.

“I suppose his hand will work just as well. I need only the band,” the Raven said. He took several steps toward Esme.

She swallowed the fear choking her as fast as she could, yet she was unable to get it all down.

“Do you have something to say, Miss Worthington?”

She shook her head fervently.

“Good.” He pulled a bell cord hanging in the corner. The butler reappeared in the doorway. He silently eyed Thatcher’s body,
maimed and bloody. “Take Miss Worthington to the north tower. I have no further use for her at the moment. Then clean this
up while I ready us to leave.”

Fielding leaned against the closed door and exhaled slowly. He’d been a complete ass. He should go and apologize. Tell her
he’d returned the diary. But he knew he wouldn’t. This was for Esme’s own good.