Chapter 29

Fast seethed as he paced back and forth in the small, cramped room, infuriated that he’d spent the last five hours stuck in this blasted inn instead of in bed with Lorelei’s warm, sweet body spread alongside him.

But he’d had no choice in the matter because Bevil had finally responded to the letter Gregg had sent him. He agreed to exchange Ellie Jensen for Albert’s signed confession, and the meeting was to take place at this out-of-the-way inn.

Fast had arrived early, with a confession —not the real one of course, but one prepared by Gregg—in his coat pocket. But the appointed time had come and gone hours ago, and the earl had never arrived. Fast hadn’t wanted to leave, just in case the other man had been delayed by the wretched rains or his horse had thrown a shoe. There were a dozen reasons why Bevil might have—

The door to his room swung open and Gregg entered. “I received another message.”

Fast snatched the paper from him and read the brief contents:

You disobeyed my last instructions and allowed your men to loiter with you. I will give you one last chance. Go alone to the Crown and Thistle and await further instructions. If you are not there by nine o’clock the girl will die. You are under constant observation, if I find out your men are following you, the girl will die. If you disobey me in any way, the girl will die.

Fast crumpled up the message and swore. “Moreland has somebody watching me—he knew that I wasn’t alone. He wants me to go to the Crown and Thistle where there will be further instructions.

“The Crown and Thistle ? Isn’t that on the Great North Road?”

“Yes, and I need to be there by nine.”

“You’ll need to hurry if you’re to make that.”

Fast nodded.

“We’ll follow, but we’ll stay at least a half mile—”

“No. Nobody follows me.”

“That is madness, Severn. You must let us—”

“I said no. ”

“I hope you know that you’re walking into a trap.”

“Probably. But I’m not entirely defenseless.” He could see Gregg wasn’t convinced. “I won’t condemn an innocent young woman to death as well.”

“She’s probably already dead, Fast. I just can’t see Moreland keeping her alive.”

The other man hadn’t called him by his nickname since they’d set foot on English soil last year. It was a sign of his agitation that he did so now.

“She very well might be, but I can’t take the risk.” he said quietly.

“Christ, but you’re a stubborn bastard!”

Fast grinned. “Thank you old friend. Now, I must get going.” He narrowed his eyes. “Nobody is to follow me, Gregg.”

“I don’t like it, but I’ll do as you say. I took the liberty of bringing Cnut, my lord. He’s rested and ready and waiting for you below.”

Fast smiled his first genuine smile in hours. “If any horse can get me there, it’s Cnut. Take the others back to The King’s Purse.”

Gregg nodded. “Any word for Miss Fontenot?”

Fast grimaced, recalling what he’d told Lorelei about having dinner with her tonight. At the time, he’d had no idea that Moreland would drag this business out for almost twenty-four hours. By God tonight would be the end of it!

“Tell her I’m sorry about tonight—about missing dinner and our…talk.” And he was sorry about that. Regardless of what happened in the next few hours at least he’d finally be able to tell her the truth about Moreland and the whole bloody mess. Whether it was the last thing he said to her before boarding his ship and leaving England forever, or whether—Fast put the thoughts out of his mind and met Gregg’s curious gaze, “Just ask her to be patient for one more day.”

“I’ll tell her, my lord.”

Fast slapped his friend’s shoulder and jogged down the rickety steps, his mind already on the journey ahead.

The big roan stallion was pawing the cobbles when Fast arrived in the courtyard, one of the inn grooms holding his bridle and eyeing the huge beast with obvious trepidation. Fast tossed the lad a coin and relieved him of his burden.

He took a road that led him a bit out of his way but would avoid the more heavily trafficked areas. For the next hour, all Fast thought about was getting clear of the city. Not until he was two miles from the Crown and Thistle did he give serious consideration to the trap he was riding into.

Fast had one pistol—one built especially to fit in his boot—and five knives, more than he’d worn since his early years at sea.

He wasn’t the handiest man with a knife, but he could do some damage before a bullet brought him down.

Fast knew that Moreland would not be satisfied with the letter Gregg had expertly forged. His old friend would certainly try to kill him.

Whatever he had planned, Fast’s death had to look so convincingly like an accident that nobody would ever gainsay it.

He smiled unpleasantly when he thought about how surprised Bevil would be to realize that Fast was thinking exactly the same thing.

***

Fast waited for four hours in the Crown and Thistle before the message came.

Come to the graveyard behind the abbey. If any of your minions follows you, the girl will die. If you aren’t there in two hours, the girl will die.

Fast sighed, threw back his ale, tossed some coins onto the table, and headed out to the stables, glad that Cnut had had a few hours rest because this next journey would be even harder.

The abbey in question was only a few miles from Grandon Castle, which was also the vicinity of Moreland’s father’s estate. Or at least what was left of it.

Fast, Percy, and Bevil had used the cemetery for any number of antics as young men. Indeed, Fast now recalled that he and Bevil, when they’d been fifteen or so, had taken two village wenches there together once, reveling in the taboo sensation of fucking in another man’s presence.

It made him sick to think of it now. Not because he was ashamed of his mild voyeurism, but because he now wondered if Moreland had ever raped a woman just because she’d been one of Fast’s lovers.

How could he had been such good friends with a man so rotten inside? Was he rotten, as well? There must be something wrong with him never to have seen Bevil’s true nature. As much as he’d like to blame it on youthful ignorance, he simply couldn’t forgive himself for being so blind.

And what about Percy? Poor Percy. Fast hated to think of his brother’s last moments on earth. Jensen’s brother’s confession had mentioned how Percy had looked up at the sound of his approach, his expression amiable if rather surprised that it wasn’t Bevil.

At what point had Percy recognized one of his own dueling pistols in Albert Jensen’s hand? What must he have thought?

Bevil Norman wasn’t just a killer, he was sadistic and cruel and cowardly to have sent a man to death without the decency of facing him.

Fast suspected Bevil would do the same to him if he could only be sure that such an act wouldn’t leave loose ends that would lead back to him.

Rage swelled inside him and fast ruthlessly shoved it down. Now wasn’t the time for anger; men made mistakes when they were angry. Now was the time for cold calculation. Because the man he was facing was easily the coldest and most dangerous that Fast had ever met.

***

With Cnut’s help, Fast made it to the old cemetery a half-hour early. He let the horse graze on the verdant grass at the edge of the gravestones while he sat under a tree, trying to keep old memories at bay as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

He was kept waiting two hours before a vaguely familiar man rode up on a piebald mare, bringing the horse to a halt a laughably far distance away, as if Fast might fling himself at a mounted man while he was afoot.

“You were part of my crew,” Fast said, suddenly recalling where he’d seen him before. “One of the two men the Vixen dropped off in Gran Canaria before returning to London.”

It wasn’t a question, but the man nodded and smirked. “Sí, Captain.”

“I hope you’re being well-paid for your betrayal. You know Moreland had your friend Garcia killed, don’t you?”

The other man laughed. “ I had Garcia killed. I told his lordship where to find him. He got greedy and wanted more than his share.” He scowled. “He also allowed that bloody confession to fall into your hands.”

So, there was Fast’s confirmation that the confession was still out in the world somewhere.

“What are you getting out of this now that you have nothing to blackmail Moreland with?” he asked. “How long do you think it will be before he has you killed?”

“What I am getting is none of your affair,” the other man shot back. “You are to go to the barn where his lordship’s father kept the winter grain. He said you would know where it was.”

Fast nodded abruptly. “I know the place.”

“You have half an hour.”

Fast didn’t waste his breath telling the man that he’d never make the trip in time. Instead, he caught up Cnut’s reins, swung into the saddle, and rode like the devil himself was after him.

His mind stopped spinning, and his thoughts went blessedly calm as he rode the last leg of a journey that had begun more than sixteen years before. He didn’t even need to think to guide Cnut toward his destination. The land around him was as familiar to him as the back of his hand, each bend in the road and cluster of trees bringing old memories back to life.

It was just falling dark when Fast turned onto the weedy, overgrown track that led to the big grain barn. There were no horses or carriages in sight, but a dim light emanated from the smaller of the two doors that led into the ancient structure.

He rode Cnut over to the trough before dismounting and pumped in some fresh water. When he turned around, he was confronted by Bevil Norman lounging in the doorway.

“You made it, Fast—with three minutes to spare!” The other man laughed, and the years fell away in a blur and he was, for a fraction of a second, once again a boy. Any minute now Percy would join the two of them and they would be off to do something foolish and reckless.

The vision, as intense as it was, shimmered and shattered like glass. This man had never been his friend; not twenty years ago, and certainly not today.

“Come inside, Fast,” Bevil called, stepping back into the building and out of Fast’s sight.

He strode toward the door, the hairs lifting off the back of his neck when he crossed the threshold. He skidded to a halt, staring at the wraith-thin, faded woman sitting on a wooden chair not far from the entrance, her hands bound at the wrists and resting on her lap.

“Miss Jensen?” he asked stupidly.

She nodded slightly, her anxious gaze sliding to where Bevil had set up a table with one chair.

Fast knew Ellie Jensen was a good ten years his junior, but she looked two decades older. Haggard and frail and beaten down. She also had a fading bruise on one cheek and her lower lip was swollen.

“Did you do that to her?” he demanded of Bevil.

Rather than look ashamed, the Earl of Moreland merely smirked. “Playing the hero, Fast?”

Fast knew if he opened his mouth at that moment that he’d not be able to stop himself. He also knew that nothing he could say would have any effect on such a man. Besides, it was clear that Moreland enjoyed baiting him; the best thing he could do was deny him the pleasure of snapping at the hook like a starving trout.

A quick survey of the low-ceilinged, dusty room showed it was just the three of them. Of course, there was no telling how many of Moreland’s minions might be lurking outside the building or hiding behind a piece of old farm equipment.

“It is only the three of us,” Bevil said, reading Fast’s thoughts.

Fast took a step toward the other man.

“ Uh uh uh,” Bevil chided. “You are fine where you are.”

Fast smiled. “Why Bevil, are you worried I might hurt you?”

Bevil laughed, and it sounded genuine. “I can’t believe you didn’t kill me at the countess’s house party. I expected you to sneak into my house and kill me in my bed.”

“The thought crossed my mind,” Fast admitted. Especially since he’d roamed Bevil’s estate looking for Ellie on four nights.

The earl’s smile curdled. “But you were too busy sniffing after that Pascoebitch, weren’t you? Did you fuck her, Fast?”

“No, but I did warn her about you, Bevil. She’ll never marry you. Indeed, I fear you’ll have a difficult time finding any young woman to be your wife. At least not any wealthy woman.” He smiled.

Bevil’s handsome face turned ugly. “You have always underestimated other people’s greed for status and connections, Fast. It’s because you were born so bloody well-larded you just never could fathom how it is for the rest of us mere mortals who were not so fortunate. Demelza might not want me, but her father doesn’t give a damn what she wants. And Bryok Pascoewill be delighted to accept me as his son-in-law once you are out of the way.”

Fast was sorely tempted to tell the other man that Demelza would soon be married and beyond Bevil’s grasp, as well as her father’s. But he kept his mouth shut because if he managed to get himself killed today, he didn’t want Bevil to have any information he could use against the poor girl and foil her plans.

When Fast didn’t respond to his taunting, Bevil resumed his blathering. “Take my word for it—she will be grateful to marry me. But you will not be around to witness it, will you?”

“Are you going to kill me, Bevil?” He began to reach inside his coat. “I brought the evidence and lived up to my half of the—”

“Stop right there!”

He lifted his hands. “I was just getting the confession. You gave me your word that you would let the woman go if I brought it. And I have. I’ll stay here once she is gone, and you and I can settle this between us.”

“ I gave you my word ?” Bevil repeated, his expression derisive. “Do you really think I’ll help you put a noose around my neck just so I can keep my word ?” Bevil laughed. “You arrogant fool! How the hell did you survive all those years at sea as stupid as you are? I know you brought a pistol,” he said when Fast merely stared. “And probably a knife or two, as well. Take off your overcoat—slowly—and toss it aside. Then do the same with your coat.”

“Are you going to strip me naked, Bevil?” Fast asked, amused.

Moreland lifted his pistol. “Do it or I’ll shoot you right now.”

“No you won’t. Then you wouldn’t get to gloat,” he said. “But I tell you what, Bevil. I will do what you say if you tell me why you killed my brother.”

A nasty smile spread across the other man’s face. “With pleasure. Now, remove your bloody coats.”

Fast reached for the buttons on his overcoat.

“If you had any sense at all, you’d have figured it out years ago,” Bevil said, his tone conversational and almost…jaunty. “Percy found out about Louisa. That’s why I did it. ”

“Found out what?”

“That Louisa hadn’t come to him a maiden.” He laughed at whatever he saw on Fast’s face—anger, surprise, loathing. “Yes, I had her first. And last, too, as it turned out. If you want to blame someone for Percy’s death you should really blame Louisa because it was her fault he had to die. The silly cow told Percy that I’d forced her.” He shrugged. “What else could I do?”

“How about not rape women to begin with?”

Bevil’s eyebrows shot up and he looked surprised. But rather than be ashamed or embarrassed, an expression of smug delight colored his features. “She might not have cared for it that first time. And maybe even the second. But she learned to like it after we were married.” He smiled, the expression so slimy that Fast’s vision blackened around the edges and he took a step forward.

“No. That is not a good idea, Fast.” He lifted the pistol and pointed to a huge anvil a few feet away from Fast. “If you come any closer to me than that, I will shoot you. Finish removing your coat.”

Fast locked eyes with the other man and the raw animosity he saw rocked him to his core. What had he—or Percy—ever done to earn such hatred?

“Get on with it,” Bevil snapped, jerking the gun.

Fast reached for the buttons of his coat. “Tell me how it happened?”

“You’ve read Jensen’s confession. You know how.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Bevil shrugged. “Louisa went to Percy after you’d thrashed him, when he was still laid up. I gather she went to beg him for forgiveness and spilled the entire story.” He gave a dismissive gesture. “Whatever her reasons, when I went to see Percy, he was waiting for me and in a rage. He was so weak he couldn’t even rise from his bed—but he tried. I worried he’d have some sort of relapse then and there, so I begged him to calm down—to wait until he was better, and we could discuss the matter in a civilized fashion.” Bevil snorted. “Of course, the moment he could crawl out of bed he demanded that I meet with him.”

He laughed, his eyes suddenly vague as he stared into the past. “It could hardly have worked out better. He picked somewhere nice and quiet—and isolated—to meet me. But I never showed up; Albert Jensen did. I’ll admit I wanted to lurk in the trees to watch how that went, but I needed to have a nice, secure alibi, didn’t I? And my alibi couldn’t be you , Fast, because I didn’t want you to have one. I wanted to plant a seed of doubt in everyone’s mind that you might have shot him.” Bevil chuckled evilly. “Who better to provide my alibi than your grandfather?” He grinned. “He had summoned me to his study to tell me about the letter he received from my taskmaster at the Home Office, Lord Burton. Your grandfather was delighted with how happy old Burty was with my services.” His mouth tightened. “As if I should be happy that I’d been reduced to such a plebian role.”

Fast had to force his hand to unclench so he could toss his coat aside. “That was a job you had because of Percy. He was devastated when your father lost everything. Percy did all that he could to—”

“I know what bloody Percy did,” Bevil snarled. “You don’t need to tell me that, you dunce! I was always perfectly aware of the many, many, many kindnesses your family did for poor little Bevil Norman whose father left him a pauper. As if I was just another charity, no better than a workhouse orphan you tossed crumbs to from your grand buffet.” Bevil’s chest rose and fell too quickly for a man standing still, and his eyes sparked with fury. He jerked his gun higher, until it was aimed at Fast’s face. “Put your hands above your head. I’m going to check you for weapons.”

Fast lifted his arms.

“If you so much as twitch I’ll kill you,” Bevil warned, standing close enough to rest the tip of the pistol in the hollow of Fast’s throat while he searched him roughly with his other hand.

He laughed when he found the pistol and then again when he came across the second and third knives. “Bloody hell!” he said when he found the fourth knife. “You came armed for battle. Too bad it won’t do you any good. Where is the letter?”

“In the front pocket of my coat.”

Still keeping the pistol trained on him, Bevil found the letter and backed away to the table before opening it with one hand, snatching glances at it while keeping his gun on Fast.

After a moment, he nodded. “Thank you, Fast.”

“I’ve lived up to my half of the bargain; let the woman go. She can take my horse.”

Bevil lifted the glass chimney off the lantern and held the letter over the flame, darting glances from Fast to the paper as it caught fire and flared. He shook his head, an expression of wonder on his face. “You really did come here alone, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Didn’t you?”

“Of course I did! But that’s hardly the same, is it? Albert Jensen taught me one thing, and that was never to involve anybody else when it comes to killing. For sixteen fucking years I’ve worried his loose lips would come back to haunt me. And it did, didn’t it? Well, there won’t be any witnesses this time. The damned confession is nothing but ashes and so is the only man who could have sworn to the truth of it.”

Fast gestured to Ellie. “She can say whatever she wants about you, Bevil, but she will have no proof to support her claim. It would be her word against that of a lord. Let her go. This is about the two of us.”

Bevil laughed. “Fool! Of course I can’t let her go. Ever.” A nasty smile spread across his face. “You’re not going anywhere, either. I’m going to kill you both and then set the stage with your corpses. It will be a sad, tawdry story of a depraved lord forcing himself on a defenseless woman. But this time, she’ll get the upper hand and shoot him” He cut a sneering glance at Ellie. “And then she will kill herself, too ashamed and afraid to go on.” He laughed at the shock and revulsion on Fast’s face. “If you weren’t such an arrogant blockhead you wouldn’t have wandered into what was obviously a trap. But that has ever been the way with you, hasn’t it? Women mistake your arrogance for bravery, but it’s really just stupidity, isn’t it?”

Fast ignored the question. “Did you ever love Louisa, Bevil? Or was it always just a competition to you—wanting to snatch her away because Percy and I loved her?”

Bevil sneered. “Love!” he scoffed, giving Fast his answer with just that one word. “Only an idiot believes in such a fantasy. Louisa was what every other man our age wanted. She was a beautiful heiress. She was the best and I made her mine.”

“And then you proceeded to make her life hell.”

“I made her a bloody countess !” Bevil roared. “But that was never good enough for the bitch.” His pistol in his hand shook as he suddenly lunged toward Fast, spittle flying from his mouth, his eyes glittering with something that was either madness or rage. “She mourned you and your bloody brother for years and I tolerated it.”

If Fast was going to act, he’d have no better time than now.

“You made her your broodmare and dissipated her fortune,” he goaded. “You are no better than your father. In fact, you are—”

The searing pain in his shoulder and deafening bang were simultaneous. Fast lunged toward the other man even as the sharp report rang over and over in his ears.

But Moreland was ready for him. He flung the pistol aside while stumbling backwards, out of reach, and grabbed a pistol from behind him, where it must have been tucked in his waistband. “You stay right where you are!”

Fast froze, every part of him except the fingers of his right hand, which subtly twitched the fifth knife from the sheath strapped to the inside of his wrist.

Bevil gave a hysterical but gloating laugh. “Thought I had just the one pistol, did you? But I was a step ahead of you—just like I have always been a step ahead our entire lives.” His eyes slid to Fast’s shoulder—the one grazed by the bullet—and he blenched at the sight of the blood soaking the shirt. He swallowed convulsively and wrenched his gaze away, looking as if he might vomit. “If you believe that I will—”

Fast gripped the hilt with the tips of his fingers and threw the knife. Time seemed to slow as the small dagger arrowed toward the other man and he stared in morbid satisfaction as the blade struck Bevil at the base of his throat. Before he could celebrate his accuracy, a second bang exploded.

Fortunately, this shot wasn’t accompanied by any pain.

At least not until Fast took the first step toward Bevil’s fallen form and was doubled over by a sudden agonizing pain like a red-hot poker hot in his left side. He barely made it to where Bevil lay bleeding before his knees collapsed. “Bloody fucking hell,” he hissed, dropping beside Bevil with a pained grunt. The earl’s mouth gaped like a fish, but no words came out. Based on his ragged, gurgling breaths, the knife in his throat must have severed his vocal cords as well as his airway.

“This is too damned easy for you, you piece of filth,” Fast snarled, glancing around the barn for some way to make the bastard suffer before he died too quickly and cheated him.

His gaze settled on the anvil, and he smiled. “That’ll do,” he muttered. But when he tried to stand, he couldn’t—the second wound had robbed his body of strength.

But he could still crawl, by God!

He grabbed Bevil by his hair and dragged him inch by painful inch. His vision grew blurrier by the second and he began to fear he’d lose consciousness before he could achieve his task.

Suddenly, his burden was much lighter; so much lighter that he stumbled forward on his knees. He glanced back and saw that Ellie Jenson had one of Bevil’s arms and was dragging him, her bound hands gripping Bevil’s wrist.

“Where to?” she asked breathlessly.

“Anvil,” he muttered.

His head was spinning by the time he reached the huge lump of iron. When he turned to Bevil his heart lurched at the other man’s parchment pale face and closed eyes. For a moment he feared death had cheated him.

But then Moreland’s eyelids flickered open, he fixed Fast with a glassy-eyed stare, and his lips formed the word, mercy.

Rather than elicit the reaction Bevil intended, the plea revivified Fast’s flagging fury and the sound that tore from his chest was pure animal. “Mercy? You can ask God for that,” he raged. “There will be none here on earth.” He spared a glance for Ellie. “Go now if you don’t want to see what I am about to do.”

Her dead eyes suddenly flared to life as her gaze bored into Bevil’s limp form. “It is my family he destroyed—not just yours.”

Fast had no energy left to argue. So, he nodded and turned back to Bevil.

And then he wrapped his hands around his neck.