Whisper To Me of Love (29 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Whisper To Me of Love
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The bedroom was almost in total blackness, but a tiny shaft of moonlight from a partially opened drape at one of the windows allowed him to barely make out the faint shapes of furniture near him, and carefully his gaze moved from one object to the other, searching for something out of the ordinary, something that would pinpoint the danger. And there was danger; Royce could feel it emanating from the as yet unidentified person lurking in the darkness, and his muscles tensed for action.
Concentrating intently on the menace-filled silence, straining to hear any betraying sound, Royce did not call out, did not demand identification of the person he was positive had just so stealthily entered his room. He had an extremely strong premonition that he would get no reply anyway, but would instead give away the fact that he was awake ... and therefore not the easy target his intruder might have expected to find.
It was a deadly little game they played, Royce alert and ready to fight, yet unwilling to move, afraid of betraying his only advantage, his wakefulness, while his opponent skulked in the darkness, choosing his moment to strike. And the creature would strike; Royce never doubted it for a moment. And he cursed himself, knowing the dangers as he did, for not having taken precautions—even if nothing more than sleeping with his pistol or knife beneath his pillow. But was his intruder, he wondered tensely, a mere housebreaker, or an assassin sent by the one-eyed man?
He didn't have long to speculate; almost immediately he heard the whispering glide of feet across the carpet heading directly toward his bed, and his heart pounded heavily, his body preparing itself to fight. His eyes half-slitted to give the impression of sleep, Royce lay there frozen, waiting impatiently for his intruder to come closer.
The intruder made an unexpected, swift rush to the side of the bed, and it was that tiny bit of moonlight that saved Royce's life, the silver shaft of light gleaming ever so faintly on the long-bladed knife that was suddenly poised over him. With explosive, lightning speed, he surged upward, his fingers closing brutally around the wrist of the hand that held the knife.
There was a male's snarl of enraged shock and then the intruder began to fight with a maniacal strength, nearly tearing his wrist free from Royce's powerful hold. They fought savagely in the darkness of the room, the man viciously trying to escape and yet at the same time plunge that deadly blade into Royce. As their bodies twisted together, the knife between them, their breathing was harsh and loud, and the occasional scrape and crash of furniture added to the increasing sound of the violent battle as they stumbled and careened around the room.
Royce guessed they were fairly matched in size and condition, but as they continued to fight, he became unpleasantly aware of the inherent dangers in fighting a clothed opponent when one is stark naked. The blade painfully nicked and sliced his bare flesh here and there in those desperate moments when he could not quite avoid or control the man's wild slashings. Once, his toes were cruelly smashed beneath the booted foot of the other, and only by sheer willpower was he able to ignore the burst of pain and keep his attention focused entirely on the constantly seeking knife. Aware that he was bleeding from a half dozen cuts, grimly, methodically, he grappled with his assailant, knowing that unless he did something immediately, soon that wicked blade would inflict grievous damage.
Suddenly several things happened at once. The door that separated his rooms from Morgana's flew open. “Royce, are you safe? What is happening?” Morgana called anxiously, a candle flickering in her hand. At the same time she appeared on the scene, at the hall entrance to his room, Mr. Spurling, the valet, stammered nervously, “S-S-Sir? I-I-Is everything a-a-all right?” And in that instant the ferocious battle between the two men brought them into the tiny ray of moonlight that beamed into the room, and Royce caught a fleeting glimpse of his opponent.
The one-eyed man!
There was no mistaking the black patch at the eye, but the majority of the man's features were obscured by the slouch brim of his hat, which was pulled low across part of his face. Those portions of his face that could be seen in the faint moonlight were so contorted by hatred and fury that they were nearly unrecognizable as human. Royce had halfway been prepared for some sort of attack, but he had never really believed that it would be directed against him personally, that someone would actually try to kill him, nor had he ever considered that the one-eyed man himself would be the attacker, and for just a split second, sheer astonishment loosened his grasp on his assailant.
With a surprised grunt, the one-eyed man tore free and, like a striking snake, made a reckless thrust with the knife in Royce's direction. Royce, leaping backward to avoid the vicious lunge, stumbled into one of the overturned chairs and went down with a heavy thud. The one-eyed man wasted no time with him, but hurtled toward Morgana, his intention, whether to hurt her or to take her with him, unclear.
She had no time to think, only to react, and with action born of desperation, she boldly jabbed the candle into his good eye. Screaming with anguish, the one-eyed man dropped his knife, his hands ripping the candle from hers, before spinning around and racing to the opened doorway, where Spurling stood there frozen. Knocking the poor valet aside, he disappeared into the darkness.
C
HAPTER
18
P
andemonium reigned for several wild seconds, Morgana's frantic exclamation hanging in the air as she flew across the darkness to kneel beside Royce's struggling form where he fought furiously to disentangle his lower limbs from the wooden arms of the chair. Clucking fearfully to himself, Mr. Spurling finally recovered sufficiently enough from his fright and the force of the one-eyed man's impact to scrabble around and hastily find a candelabra and light it. Almost immediately, with an angry curse, Royce kicked free of the chair and bounded to his feet, Morgana hovering anxiously at his side. Adding to the confusion, Zachary, roused by the racket, suddenly loomed up behind Mr. Spurling, a cocked pistol in his hand as he demanded grimly, “What the bloody hell is going on?”
Somehow, Morgana was in Royce's arms, her hands moving urgently over him, as if reassuring herself that he was not greatly harmed, her voice full of concern as she asked huskily, “You're not hurt? He did not stab you?”
Oblivious to his nakedness, to the blood that trickled down his body from the half dozen or so cuts that the one-eyed man had inflicted during their violent struggle, barely aware of his arm protectively around Morgana's slender shoulders, he dragged her willy-nilly along with him as he strode over to where Zachary and Mr. Spurling crowded in the doorway. The expression on his face must have been fierce, because Zachary and Mr. Spurling instantly gave way before him, and stepping into the hallway, he glanced disgustedly up and down, his gaze meeting silent darkness.
“The bastard got away!” he muttered viciously under his breath as he swung around and reentered the room.
“The one-eyed man!” Zachary said excitedly. “He sent an assailant after you?”
Ignoring Mr. Spurling's fluttering attempts to clothe him in a flamboyant dressing robe of black silk heavily embroidered with gold and crimson thread, Royce glanced at Zachary and smiled—trust his cousin, with youth's eager seeking of adventure, to be thrilled about tonight's events! Amusement dancing in the golden eyes, Royce murmured, “Ah, better than that! The one-eyed man himself paid me a visit!”
Mr. Spurling had by now managed to get Royce into the robe, and almost absently Royce's arm once more went around Morgana's shoulders, unconsciously holding her next to his side as if he were reassuring himself that she was unhurt. Morgana unashamedly clung to him, still not quite able to convince herself that the one-eyed man had not harmed him, and her eyes darkened with alarm when, through a gape in the dressing robe, she caught sight of the blood on his chest.
“You're bleeding!” she cried softly.
Zachary and Mr. Spurling exclaimed anxiously, converging on Royce, but he waved them away. “It is nothing—mere scratches, although I'm sure that the one-eyed man wishes they were far more serious.” He glanced at Morgana, his arm tightening slightly about her. “
You
are not hurt? He did not touch you?”
She shook her head. “No. Everything happened so fast that he didn't have time to harm me.”
It wasn't to be expected that the noise of the fight could go unnoticed by the rest of the household, and Chambers, a lighted candle in his hand, suddenly appeared in the doorway, a concerned expression on his features; just beyond him, Ivy hovered, her eyes big and alarmed in her pleasant face. Explanations were swiftly given, and though Royce continued to protest that he was not seriously hurt, no one paid him any heed. While Chambers disappeared to the kitchen for hot water and bandages, as well as some whiskey and brandy, Zachary, a nervous Mr. Spurling at his heels, conducted a thorough search of the downstairs. There was no sign of the one-eyed man, but they did discover the servants' entrance door at the rear of the house standing wide open. Further examination revealed that there was no new damage done to the lock, and the conclusion was inescapable that someone in the house must have opened the door to let him in....
Royce didn't seem surprised when Zachary reported what he had found; in fact, it was almost as if Royce had expected it. By this time, Chambers had returned with the supplies needed, and in a remarkably short period of time, Ivy and Morgana were busy cleaning and examining Royce's cuts and scrapes. As he had said, the wounds were not grave, and once the two women had seen for themselves the truth of this and had the ugly gashes dressed to their satisfaction, everyone began to relax and discuss the attack. Royce remained silent through most of the animated discourse, and it was only when they had begun to speak of more mundane things—the earliness of the hour, the daily routine that would soon begin—that he entered the conversation.
His room had been hurriedly put to rights and he was lounging in a chair covered in a deep ruby velvet, the richness of his vividly embroidered black silk robe intensified against the fabric of the chair. Aching just a little from his many cuts and bruises, Royce looked steadily at Mr. Spurling and asked softly, “And how was it that you were so providentially nearby tonight, Mr. Spurling?”
Every eye was suddenly on him, and Mr. Spurling started, his neat features congealing into an expression of alarm. “M-M-Me? N-N-Nearby?” he stammered uneasily, his pale blue eyes darting from one face to the other. “I-I-I'm not certain w-w-what you m-m-mean, sir.”
“Oh, I think you do,” Royce replied slowly, his gaze boring unwaveringly into the other man. “Surely it is not your normal practice to roam about the house at night. Why weren't you upstairs in your quarters like all the others?”
Mr. Spurling swallowed convulsively, his agitation and distress clearly evident to everyone else. Suspiciously, he was still garbed in day wear, the dark, discreet clothes—breeches, white shirt, modestly tied cravat, and nicely fitting jacket—that plainly betrayed his profession. He was a small man, with thinning brown hair, which he kept neatly groomed, and his features were quite unremarkable. He easily blended into the background—an often necessary attribute for a valet. Watching him closely as he stood there nearly wringing his hands in distress, Royce wondered idly if some of his nervousness might not be the result of suddenly finding himself the cynosure of everyone's interest, or was it something else ... ?
“No reply?” Royce asked with deceptive gentleness.
Mr. Spurling drew himself up as tall as his diminutive height would allow, and taking a deep breath, he said weakly, “I could not sleep, sir, and d-d-decided that since Mr. Chambers had informed me of our unexpected r-r-removal to the country on Friday, I would s-s-start packing some of your clothes.” Anxiety clouding his features, he added passionately, “Sir! You cannot believe that I had anything to do with that creature's attack on you! I swear to you that I am telling the truth!”
Aware of the earliness of the hour and that it was highly unlikely he would gain anything from further questioning of Mr. Spurling, Royce made some noncommittal reply and dismissed his valet, along with Ivy and Chambers. When they had left, Zachary moved from his position where he had been leaning against one of the bedposts of Royce's bed and demanded, “Do you think that poor old Spurling is in league with the one-eyed man?”
The bitter discord between Morgana and Royce momentarily forgotten, she sat on the floor near his chair, one hand resting absently on his knee, her demure cambric and lace nightgown reposing in a cream and rose froth about her legs. Her dark, curly head had been bent as she seemed to study the intricate pattern in the jeweled tones of the Aubusson carpet that lay upon the floor, but at Zachary's words, she jerked upright, her eyes widening with consternation. “A spy?” she said in horrified accents. “Someone within your very household?”
Royce cocked an eyebrow at her. “Why not? The one-eyed man may seem omnipotent, but I assure you that he is not—I suspect that he merely has many tools in many different places. And I wouldn't be surprised to find, if we cared to investigate more thoroughly, that our Mr. Spurling either has had the one-eyed man do him a ...
favor
sometime in the past ... or someone whom Mr. Spurling holds dear has had dealings with the one-eyed man, and in order to protect them, he is doing the one-eyed man's bidding.”
A frown marring his handsome face, Zachary inquired darkly, “What are you going to do about Spurling? If he let the one-eyed man into the house tonight, he can do it again. We can't just let him spy on us!”
Royce smiled faintly, one hand gently caressing Morgana's shoulder. “Unfortunately, I'm afraid we have no other choice,” he said lightly.
“What?”
Zachary ejaculated angrily. “You're going to let that mouse-faced little bastard run tame through the house? You're not going to let him go?”
A thoughtful expression on his face, Royce answered slowly, “If I let him go, the one-eyed man will only replace him with someone else—someone else I
don't
know is spying on me. By keeping Spurling in my employment, at least I have some control over what he learns and when he learns it. Knowing he is the one-eyed man's tool gives us a small advantage.”
Dawning admiration spreading across his features, Zachary grinned at him. “Oh, I say, Royce, that is clever!” An eager gleam suddenly leaped into his eyes and he added excitedly, “We might even use Spurling to lead us to the one-eyed man!”
“For the moment,” Royce answered crushingly, visions of Zachary following Spurling into Lord knew what kind of danger flitting through his brain, “we will do no such thing! Morgana's brothers are already trying to track him to his hiding place.”
Morgana gave a small, frightened gasp, and Royce cursed his unwary tongue. “They will take every care,” he consoled her quickly. “They know the dangers and they are almost as crafty and shrewd as he is—more importantly, he won't be expecting trouble from them.”
She drew in a deep, shaky breath. “I know,” she said simply, “it is just that he is so evil, and if he even just suspected that they were not loyal to him, he would kill them.”
There was nothing Royce could say that would calm her fears, but attempting to focus her thoughts on something else, he said, “At least we foiled his plans tonight—I am still alive, and you are still unhurt and under my protection.”
It was an unfortunate choice of words, for it reminded her forcibly of her invidious position, and she stiffened, drawing away instantly from him. Not meeting his eye, she stood up swiftly, and glancing across at Zachary, she smiled faintly and murmured, “If you'll excuse me, I think I shall seek out my bed for the short time that is left us. Good night.”
Very aware of the air of constraint that had so abruptly entered the room, and seeking to lighten it, Zachary smiled at her and, walking nearer, picked up her hand and pressed a gallant kiss to the soft flesh. His gaze fixed on her lovely face. “It was brilliant of you to poke him in the eye with that candle—maybe he won't even have one eye to see out of now!”
Glad to forget for a moment the situation between herself and Royce, she grinned impishly up at Zachary. “Being raised in St. Giles
does
have its advantages, and having to think quickly and act immediately upon it is one of the first things you learn.”
Zachary was only half listening to her, his gaze roaming appreciatively across her face, when something he should have noticed before hit him like a thunderbolt. Perhaps the fact that he had only seen her briefly a few times and had only very recently spent any amount of time in Julian's company excused his lack of recognition, but tonight, staring keenly into her lovely little features as he was, the conclusion was inescapable—Morgana Fowler resembled, to an astounding degree, Julian Devlin! Gazing intently now into Morgana's upturned face, he recognized that though there were obvious differences between them, even beyond those of male and female, they still bore a marked likeness to each other. Why, he thought dazedly, they could be brother and sister!
Unconsciously his grasp upon her hand tightened and she glanced up at him in surprise, her eyes widening when she caught the stunned expression in his gaze. “What is it?” she asked urgently. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
“Um, um, it's just that,” Zachary began uncomfortably, “that you remind me of someone.”
Before Morgana could question him further, Royce drawled languidly, “Yes, of course, probably that little ballet dancer you have been dangling after this past month.” Glancing at Morgana, he said dismissingly, “Didn't I hear you say that you were going to bed?”
Morgana flushed, her hand tingling to connect with his arrogant face, and after a hurried but very sweet good night to Zachary, ignoring Royce entirely, she swept from the room. There was an odd silence after she had departed, Zachary staring for several seconds in the direction in which she had disappeared. Slowly turning around, he looked at his cousin. “How long have you known that she's Julian's sister?” he asked quietly, his young face grave and troubled.
Royce sighed, knowing that the next few moments were not going to be pleasant. Walking over to a long mahogany bureau, to the tray of decanters filled with whiskey and brandy that Chambers had brought up, Royce poured himself a glass of whiskey and, glancing over his shoulder at Zachary, lifted a heavy black brow in question. Zachary shook his head vehemently and muttered, “It is damn near daylight!”

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