Far Too Tempted Read online

  Silence ensued except the even ticking of a clock on the mantel. Standing there with the evidence of his former friend’s treachery in his hands, Alex felt bitter anger rise up in his throat like bile. “We’ll see about the code, shall we? I’m sure the War Office would at least like to try.”

  “Ah yes, but they won’t get the chance, I’m afraid.” A smile crept across Jack’s dark face, a thin humorless smile that sent a chill up Alex’s spine. He added, “The papers stay here, my friend.”

  “I am no longer your friend, Jack.” Alex opened his fingers deliberately and let the papers drift to the floor, needing to free his hands. The weight of the knife in his pocket gave him a strange thrill of dark anticipation for the fight he knew was coming. “Our friendship ceased the day you became a traitorous murderer who panders his own wife to lure men to their deaths.”

  That shot hit home, the smile vanishing from Jack’s face and his body visibly tensing. “Eloise is a great patriot, aiding the emperor at his own request. She regards his orders like any other soldier and carries them out without question.”

  “By whoring for Bonaparte?” The taunt was said lightly. Alex smiled. “It is actually a simple but very effective plan. Those poor fellows, a bit past their youth, bemused by a pretty face. You are a much more generous husband than I, Jack. I would share Jessica with no man, no matter my country.” It was true, he realized, the thought of anyone else touching her made him feel a sickening rage.

  He focused on that emotion, dropping his arms to his sides. “Your wife’s loyalties I can understand, even if I do not condone the deliberate murder of innocent men. But you, Jack? Why? Once you served Wellington and your king with honor. How can you betray your own people?”

  “My people? My men, my army, my country? You have no idea what you are saying.” Jack’s mouth twisted in a macabre expression of black anger. “Where were my people when I was captured and tortured for days on end? What rescue party was mounted? Who searched the countryside, tended my wounds, attempted to set me free?” He straightened, took a step forward, and hissed, “I’ll tell you, Alex. They were going about their business and I was forgotten. Left behind French lines to rot and die without thought.”

  Fully conscious of the other man’s hands in his pockets and that Jack would probably be armed, Alex argued, “It is part of the danger of the missions you undertook. The possibility of capture existed. You knew that going in.”

  “Ah…see now, that’s not exactly true.” White teeth gleamed in the darkness. “You must understand, the word torture is an abstract concept until one experiences it firsthand.”

  Alex’s eyes narrowed and he tensed as Rivers took another slow step closer. His response sounded muffled, even to his own ears. “Perhaps, yet how your experience makes you wish to serve the French escapes me somehow.”

  Jacked laughed, low and sharp. “I feel loyalty to no country, not France or England. Not any longer, or ever again. My wife, however…my savior, my nurse, the woman who helped me at great risk to escape incredible pain and eventual death, to her I am supremely loyal.”

  Crouching as Rivers pulled a wicked-looking knife from his pocket, Alex whipped his hand downward and felt his fingers close around the hilt of his own weapon. “Even if it means murder, Rivers?”

  “Killing British aristocrats who are plump in the pocket and short on real courage? Yes indeed, that is a pleasure. Now…shall we continue where we left off last night?” Jack lunged, the knife spinning in his hand.

  Alex dodged and feinted left, coming perilously close to hitting the edge of the desk. A small study was a poor place for a knife fight. They circled, each looking for an opening. He said cuttingly, “How can you say that of Pickford? He’s good man and a fine soldier.”

  “Any man who would think to bed another man’s wife deserves to die, don’t you think so, Alex? Of course, he will not actually have the opportunity. Eloise will delay the matter at hand until I arrive. I plan on leaving the moment after I kill you. I regret now my moment of foolish sentiment over our old friendship. I should have finished the job back in your brother’s garden. ”A sudden lunge and thrust accompanied the declaration.

  Deflecting his opponent’s arm at the last possible moment, Alex jabbed low and Jack flinched backwards in a stumble. Both of them beginning to pant, they circled again with weapons extended, impeded by the furniture and cramped floor space.

  “Hey, Guv, need some help with this bloke?” A cheerful voice interrupted the moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Tolley, slim and dressed in shabby dark clothes, slip through the window and land with a small thud on the worn carpet. Right behind him came the bulky figure of O’Brien, wheezing a little as he rolled over the sill.

  Both men held pistols drawn and pointed at Jack Rivers. Tolley said, “We were wondering if you were taking just a little too much time, sir.”

  A strange mixture of relief and regret surged through Alex’s gut. He hadn’t wanted to kill someone who had been such a good friend, and then again, the Jack Rivers he knew no longer existed.

  That man—he was convinced—had died, tormented and abandoned back in Spain. At least his gallant soul had perished.

  “I ran into a bit of a complication, Alfred,” he admitted, and then took a deep breath and stepped back carefully, blocking any attempt toward the open door to the hallway. Still holding his own weapon defensively in front of his body, he said coldly, “Drop the knife, Jack.”

  Rivers just stood there, his hooded gaze riveted on the two muzzles pointed his direction.

  “Jack?”

  Once again that chilling smile broke over his old friend’s face and he lifted his hand ever so slowly as he opened his fingers. The knife fell to the carpet with a soft sound. “I won’t hang, Alex.”

  In just as an unemotional voice, Alex said, “That’s not for me to decide. O’Brien, find something and tie him up. Tolley and I have a meeting with Madame Rivers and we need to leave immediately.”

  Chapter 16

  Sickly early-morning light filled the drab hallway. Alex felt as if he’d been stretched on a rack and left in the sun for days on end. Worn, hollow, nearly lifeless. His head ached as well, from being awake for two nights.

  Pickford placed his head in hands and said in a stifled voice. “I feel like such a fool.”

  Considering that he and Tolley had found the major in a drugged state and the amount of time it had taken to rouse him, Alex figured that being a living fool was much better than being strangled and put on display like a Drury Lane actress. He said neutrally, “I’m confident Litchfield, Orschell and Flatterly would trade places with you any day.”

  His face pale, Pickford nodded. “I’m sure you’re right, Ramsey. I owe you my life, though I’m not sure quite why you appeared when you did.”

  Next to him, thin arms dangling between his knees, Tolley shot the older man a slightly contemptuous glance.

  “Ask General Wright, if you’ve a mind to.” Alex paused, spun on his heel, and paced back down the worn floor. Pickford sat limply in his plain chair like a sack of old meal, his normally ruddy face pinched and gray.

  The emergence of the surgeon was both a relief and brought another wave of dreadful guilt. Tolley shot to his feet. Alex stopped midstep, arrested by the grim expression on the man’s face and his bloodstained apron. He said sharply, “Well?”

  The doctor, small, wiry and wrinkled as a monkey, pursed his mouth. “I’d wager a shilling, sir, as to him living through the next day. If he does, I’d wager more that he’ll make it.”

  “Thank God,” Alex muttered. Since he was the one who had ordered O’Brien to watch over Jack and left them at the townhouse alone, he felt acute guilt over the fact that he hadn’t properly advised the big Irishman just how dangerous his charge could be. When they returned to the Rivers’ residence after arresting a defiant Eloise, they’d discovered O’Brien on the floor in a welter of blood and Jack nowhere in sight. All the Irishman had been able to gasp out
was something about a second knife.

  Why the hell hadn’t he thought to more thoroughly search Jack? A wily opponent at all times, of course Rivers would have several weapons at hand. Somehow Alex had felt that O’Brien’s sheer size and the pistol in his grip would be enough, and the assumption had been a mistake.

  He knew it was his own damned fault for being careless and so anxious to resolve this devilish case.

  And now, the enemy was free and loose in the city.

  * * * *

  The morning was breathtakingly soft and summery sweet. Unladylike it might be to rise at dawn and put herself to weeding in the garden on her hands and knees, Jessica still felt contentment as she worked, definitely at odds with her restless night. In the hours since she’d given up trying to sleep and had risen, her mood had lightened but she was still reluctant to analyze why she couldn’t sleep, and even more, why she’d felt such a need to flee London.

  Ridiculous, she told herself firmly as she plucked out a particularly stubborn bit of thistle from amongst a scraggly row of budding lilies. She had only been married to her husband for a few days now, and after a lifetime of solitary slumber, Alex’s absence beside her could hardly have been the cause of her tossing and turning. As for leaving London, he’d broken his promise to bring her home and as one used to relying on herself, the matter was now undoubtedly settled to both of their satisfaction. She was at Braidwood and useful, and Alex was free to pursue whatever it was that occupied so much of his time.

  With a spade she’d found lying with some other tools by the side of the box hedge, she began to methodically turn the soil, inhaling deeply the earthy smell. The sun felt warm already on her shoulders and the birds were busy, in full song and filling the air with movement and noise.

  And that wasn’t the only noise invading the peaceful garden.

  A distant rumble of thunder made her frown. Glancing up at the serene sky of deepening blue, Jessica paused, seeing one of the gardening staff, a thin old man who had seen her toiling and obviously deliberately stayed a discreet distance away, also look sharply upwards at the cloudless abyss above.

  Not thunder, no. Jessica slowly rose to her feet. Like a statue, she stood and listened to the sound of hooves pounding up the drive. Whoever was arriving seemed to be in a great hurry.

  Alex. The name almost erupted from her lips.

  When she was certain he wouldn’t, he’d come for her.

  A surge of joy almost made her knees weak, and she hated herself for that naive emotion. Instantly she chastised herself inwardly for being a romantic fool, when all the while she belied that emotion by straightening the skirt of her simple gown and self-consciously smoothing her hair. At least holding on to her dignity enough to not hurry, she picked her way to the path and began to walk around the house.

  If Alex was angry at her defection from London to the country, she was simply going to coolly point out that he had brought it on himself. She rounded the corner, bracing herself for the husbandly tirade that was sure to come.

  Only her visitor wasn’t Alex.

  The team was lathered, the coach old and decrepit, and as it rocked to an unsteady halt just before the front doors of the house, the tall man who emerged from the interior bore very little resemblance to her fair husband but was familiar just the same. Dark as sin, and wearing an expression perhaps as forbidding as the master of Hades, she recognized Jack Rivers as the man Alex had chosen to stand as witness to their marriage ceremony.

  Why on earth is he arriving at Braidwood, looking bleak as the Reaper himself?

  At the edge of the drive, she felt her stomach do a curious dive.

  “Mrs. Ramsey?” He spotted her and stopped dead in the act of dashing up the front steps, whipping his hand through his hair as if suddenly aware of his appearance: rumpled coat, unshaven jaw, dusty boots. Abruptly changing his route, he strode toward her.

  Ordinarily she might be self-conscious to greet a guest after hours on her knees in the garden, but it suddenly seemed a very trivial matter. Alex’s friend haring up their drive at a breakneck pace was ominous. Jessica’s throat seemed to close. “Mr. Rivers? What a…a surprise.”

  His dark eyes were intensely grave and disconcertingly intense. If he noticed her dirt-stained hands and old gown, it was not apparent as he came forward. He stopped just short of where she stood. “I can see from the expression on your face you realize my arrival is not the herald of good news. I’m sorry, but it’s Alex.”

  “Alex?” Her voice was curiously thick. Her fingers felt numb and heavy as Jack Rivers reached out and took her hand.

  All details of the lovely morning rushed away. The sun, birds, summer smells. The only thing Jessica was aware of was the tall man standing over her, clasping her fingers so very tightly. His eyes were heavy-lidded and a muscle twitched spasmodically in his left cheek as he said, “I regret to tell you that there has been trouble.”

  Trouble? The numbness began to spread in cold waves throughout her body. The image of the fight in the garden flashed into her mind.

  “I will not lie to you.” The words were harsh. “Alex is in grave danger of losing his life.”

  Alex…so vital, so strong…dead?

  She wildly shook her head and whispered, “No.”

  Rivers caught her arms. “Don’t faint on me, my lady. Your husband still lives. We need to leave immediately for London. Perhaps your presence will make all the difference…” The sentence trailed off as if the breath had caught in his throat.

  The picture of Alex, bloody and ashen, all those many miles away, made her heart tighten as if squeezed in a vise. Jessica blinked upward in horrified disbelief, Jack’s saturnine features blurring. Her voice wobbled in betrayal when she whispered, “What happened? Marcus sent no word… I don’t understand—”

  He said harshly, “We can discuss this once we are on our way. Hurry and ready yourself. I will escort you back to London. Your husband needs you by his side.”

  Hurry.

  Your husband needs you…

  Jerking free from her visitor’s supporting grip, Jessica turned and ran blindly toward the house to change her clothes. Before she was even in the doorway, she was shouting for Higgins.

  * * * *

  Tepid tea and stale, tasteless scones were hardly the remedy for lost sleep and utter frustration. His gaze narrowed on the woman sitting so still in the chair across the bare room, Alex bit out, “Continuing to deny your husband’s role as El Diablo, both back in Spain, and here in London, is fruitless, madame.”

  Only the barest light filtered through one high, dusty window, shrouding the room in shadow despite the bright early-morning sun outside. Pale and composed, looking cool and lovely in an embroidered tulle gown even after a night spent under arrest, Eloise Rivers lifted one blond brow in a careful movement. “And doing otherwise, Colonel, where would that get me?”

  That was the confounded aspect of it all, Alex thought darkly as they stared at each other in deadlock. Implication in the murders of three such important men was a death sentence of itself. Nothing she could say would likely save her life. Even though hanging women was very rare, it still happened, and in her case, was no doubt inevitable. Fingering the cuff of his rumpled coat, he held her gaze. “Your cooperation will sit well with the courts, Mrs. Rivers.” Next to him at a small table, a young man sat, scribbling down every word exchanged in the interrogation. Held for now in an empty office in the rabbit’s den of government buildings, Eloise had refused to speak a word to anyone else but Alex, though Wright had been insistent at least there be a record of their conversation.

  Her laugh sounded more like breaking glass than mirth, light and brittle. “My ‘cooperation’ will not affect the outcome of my predicament. Come now, let us be honest, Colonel. You accuse me of cold-blooded murder and even claim to have proof. How could they ever set me free?”

  Across the length of the simple room that General Wright had decided would make an adequate makeshift prison for such
a politically charged prisoner, Alex swiftly countered, “I accuse your husband of murder. You are merely an accomplice, callously used as bait. It could be a valid defense.”

  “Jack did not use me. I believe you know this full well.” Her pink lips pursed and her slippers scraped the floor as she shifted position slightly. Tipping back her blond head, she idly fingered the edge of her bodice, drawing attention to the generous exposed upper swells of her breasts in a way that in any other circumstances would have seemed flirtatious. Here, trapped in a dreary bare room and discussing the murders of three men, it was simply grotesque. Nevertheless, Alex heard the young man next to him swallow audibly, the pen arrested in his hand as his gaze followed that languid movement.

  She murmured, “El Diablo has been brilliantly confounding Wellington’s intelligence network since well before Jack was captured by the French.”

  “He would not be the first man to sell out while still in our service.”

  Clicking at her teeth with her tongue in a scolding sound, Eloise smiled. “So quick to condemn your old friend, aren’t you?”

  Alex smiled back, a cynical twist of his lips. “Murder has a tendency to set a man apart from the rest of his race, even his old friends. If I condemn Jack, it is because I know what he has become.”

  Eloise’s eyes took on an odd glitter. She glanced at the secretary, who was still staring, a slack-jawed expression on his face. When she looked back at Alex, her gaze was cold. “And what is that, mon Colonel?”

  “A monster, Madame Rivers. Evil, remorseless, inhuman.”

  “How harsh you are.” The murmur of protest fell into the airless room.

  “I examined Lord Flatterly’s body after he was found the other day. I don’t think anything could be more harsh than his treatment.”