Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

E zra awoke to the pressure of someone against his chest as his thoughts became filled with memories of the previous evening. His mother and Lydia; the storm, the fight, the lovemaking in the park. The lovemaking here. That was what that was after all. He did not simply pluck her as he would have done to anyone else. They had made love .

Opening his eyes, Ezra looked down to see Lydia, naked and still deeply asleep on his chest. Her dark brown hair was curly and loose and tumbled across her naked back. Her dark lashes were fanned over her cheeks and her lips parted slightly as she breathed softly in her sleep. Unable to stop himself, Ezra lifted a hand and gently moved a lock of her hair that had fallen over her eye.

He tucked the piece gently behind her ear, then stroked his palm over the back of her head, over her neck, and down the smooth, curved expanse of her back. Even in her sleep, Lydia whimpered and moved with the gentle stroke of his touch. Desire rose in him again, but so did something else.

That strange emotion he’d felt previously had again raised its ugly head and Ezra pulled back his hand in response to his discomfort. He had told her things last night. Secret, intimate things about his past with his mother that he had not even told his brothers about, and she had listened to him without judgment. Or, at least, without judgment of him. Her reaction to his mother was obviously a different story.

His mother. Talking about her had brought some old memories to light; ones he had long buried or dismissed as unimportant. But what if they were important? He’d never really pursued his mother as a suspect. They had been too focused on the men that could have been their enemies. Not just to the Fernside name, but also to the Banfield, Curtis, and Green names. They had been looking for men who had been angry with all of them, but what if he had been the sole target all along?

Needing to think, Ezra slowly moved himself out from under his sleeping wife, careful not to wake her. As he gently lowered her head onto the cushion, a soft sigh escaped her lips, and Ezra felt a fist tighten around his heart as he watched her curl and snuggle into the space he’d just left.

Go back to her, a voice inside demanded, but he ignored it. There was more than just his assassination attempt to think about, more than just his father’s untimely demise. He needed space to think about her and the effect she was having on him. He had been born into a cold, black void and had never felt much more than that until Lydia had come along.

She had brought light and warmth into his darkness, awakening sensations he never knew he possessed, and he had drank it in greedily. In turn, he had shown her what pleasures the darkness could hold, and they were now quickly becoming addicted to the trade.

Only now, he realized, perhaps he had shown her too much. She was turning into him, twisting into someone equally as dark. Her jest about stabbing his mother had genuinely amused him last night, but now, as he saw how his corruption was slowly taking over her purity, he was filled with self-loathing. He felt his body stir with strange arousal at the thought of such a thing, and he shook his head and scoffed as he began to roughly don fresh clothes.

“Where are you going?”

Lydia’s soft, sleepy voice instantly stilled his aggressive thoughts and Ezra stopped buttoning his trousers to look her way. Her green eyes were still hazy and full of sleep and her cheeks were flushed with the lightest pink as she yawned slowly and stretched like a kitten. Immediately his palms ached to smooth over her curves and he felt desire spread through his loins.

“I have to get to work,” Ezra forced himself to say, resuming his buttoning.

“You said we would talk, Ezra.”

He pulled on his shirt, tucking it roughly into his waistband and reached for his socks and boots. There was no disappointment in her voice, no pouting, and Ezra knew that she was merely pointing out the truth. He stayed silent a moment longer, finished dressing, and then walked to the settee to kneel beside her.

“And we shall. But for now, I need you to listen to me,” he stated, his tone calm but commanding as he took her face in his hands.

“Go to your sisters and friends and give them my apologies, then return to Frampton where my men can protect you. Do not let them come with you. They need to stay close to Duncan and Ambrose for now.”

“Ezra…”

He cut her off with a kiss. He meant to make it quick, but it turned into something deep and possessive, and he only stopped when he found himself ready to drag her onto the floor with him.

“Do as I say, Lydia,” he demanded softly, stroking her cheek as she looked at him with concern.

“When will you join me?”

Ezra faltered. He had never been forced to report to anyone.

“When I can,” was all he could muster.

The look in Lydia’s eyes begged him to talk to her, to give her more information. Part of him wanted to, but he held back. He kissed her once more, roughly this time, and then pushed himself away. He heard her beautiful voice calling his name as he opened the door, and even though his body begged him to stop, he forced his steps forward and left without another word.

“You look downright wretched, mate,” Morgan stated, his head tilted to one side as he gave Ezra a concerned look. “What happened to you?”

Ezra felt a spark in his veins as he thought of Lydia, but he forced his mask of detachment to remain in place.

“Since when does my pretty face concern you, Morgan?” Ezra asked blandly, then turned to Ambrose.

“When it is no longer pretty,” Morgan muttered back.

“What are they doing here?” Ezra asked Ambrose, ignoring Morgan’s remark. He had no doubt he looked like hell.

He had come to the gaming hell to speak with Ambrose about getting the group together, but to his surprise, he had found them all waiting for him. Until now, Ambrose and Ezra had agreed to keep the gaming hell a secret from Duncan and Morgan. They did not want anything to be traceable to them in the event they were caught.

Ambrose nodded toward an empty seat between Morgan and Duncan, and though he was reluctant, Ezra took a seat.

“Why does this feel like an ambush?” he asked wryly, lacing his fingers together as he crossed his ankle over his knee.

“It is not an ambush, brother,” Ambrose said calmly, leaning back in his chair. “An attempt was made on your life. Any one of us could very well be next. I decided that the gaming hell was the safest place for us all to meet.”

“I hear our wives are busy planning a wedding for young Juliet and have taken over Ambrose’s house,” Duncan added in a jesting tone, “So I have chosen to dedicate some time to finding this man who stabbed you in order to question him.”

“As have I,” Morgan added, then fluttered his hand toward the room, “Although we will be discussing this dirty little treasure trove that you’ve so carefully hidden away from me at another time. Honestly, I am rather hurt that I was kept out of this. I would have been your best customer.”

“That is why you were kept out of it,” Ambrose retorted with a dry chuckle, then turned toward Ezra.

Ezra felt that strange burst of warmth again. Only this time it was not like what he felt with Lydia that first filled his chest and groin; it was a sibling affection of some sort, he gathered. Unnerved at yet another foreign sensation, Ezra shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Let us get down to it then,” he stated, rubbing his temples to try and erase the new feeling, “Mummy dear says she has not heard nor seen old Georgie in years. She also denied having anything to do with the attack.”

“You visited your mother?” Morgan gasped, his eyes widening in shock.

To his right, Duncan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and in front of him, Ambrose suddenly became intensely interested in the surface of his desk. They did not know much about Sophia Fernside and did not need to. Not after how she had behaved at the late duke’s funeral.

“I see you got away with your life,” Ambrose stated, finally looking back up at him. “What about your little spies? Did you send them out yesterday?”

Visions of him and Lydia in the park flashed through Ezra’s mind, and he shook his head.

“I dispatched them this morning,” he answered. “No responses yet.”

Ambrose looked at him as if he were about to question why he waited, but Duncan spoke up next.

“While we have not found him yet, my men found these when they went to his London house to search for him,” he said, leaning down toward his satchel.

From within it he drew out some loose papers and passed them to Ezra.

“Notice anything in common about them?” Duncan asked as Ezra scanned the pages.

They were letters; twelve of them, and Ezra immediately noticed they were all written word for word by the same hand, including the date and signature at the bottom. The only difference in each letter was to the addressees: their fathers.

“Whittler?” Ezra asked, reading the name signed at the bottom. “That sounds familiar, but I do not recall a Lord Whittler.”

“That is because there isn’t one,” Duncan replied, “I already checked. I do not believe it is a true name, however, but a moniker.”

“Like a reference,” Ezra muttered. “Though what villainous measure can be performed by a man who is fond of whittling is beyond me.”

“Why this person calls themselves what they do is not important,” Ambrose interjected. “Each of these letters is an invitation to our fathers, and did you see the locations? These were not meetings in offices or homes, but in back alleyways and on wharves.”

He paused as a familiar address appeared in one of the copies of the letters and doubled back to read it correctly.

“This is an invitation to meet at the wharf on the day of the fire,” Ezra said aloud. “If George had these, that means he was able to get into our fathers’ offices and retrieve them before the investigators arrived.”

Duncan nodded.

“That is what I also thought, which is why I decided to take a page from his playbook and break into his offices. Trouble is, he is a terribly disorganized man,” Duncan said with annoyance, “has his information and documentation sprinkled throughout his houses. My men are bringing me new information daily, and we are hoping we can find a clue as to where he may be hiding since he has not turned up at any of his properties.”

Ezra nodded and looked back down at the papers, studying them closely. He needed to get back to Frampton and delve into his father’s old papers. George’s signature was on many, and he wanted to see if it compared to Whittler’s. If it did, that would be all the proof they would need to seek justice against him.

“I have an idea,” he stated, rising to his feet. “But I need to get back to Frampton before I can be sure it has any legs. I’ll leave word for my men to come and report here to you three while I’m gone. Let me know if George is found.”

“Take Colter with you,” Ambrose said, running to catch up to him.

Ezra stopped, eyeing up the mountain of a man that always guarded Ambrose’s door.

“You will need him. For a moment I thought it was only me he was after, but I was wrong. We all need to be on guard.”

“They may be coming for all of us,” Ambrose replied, “But you were obviously the first target, and they won’t move onto us until they take care of you. Colter, go with him.”

“If you wish to send your giant anywhere, send him to watch over your sister, wife, and young son. This is a dangerous time for all of us, whether I am the intended first target or not.”

Ambrose looked at him challengingly for a moment; an older brother grappling with admitting his younger brother’s wisdom. Then he turned his head toward Colter and nodded. Ezra watched as the massive man returned the nod and disappeared down the hall.

“Duncan, you may want to…”

“Excuse me,” Duncan said, cutting Ezra off as he hurried between him and Ambrose to catch up to Colter. They all knew where he was going.

“Morgan?” Ezra asked and looked back to see his friend rising from his seat.

“I have no lovely wife or child to protect,” Morgan said with feigned remorse as he strolled toward his friends with his hands in his pockets, “But I suppose I do rather like my life, and therefore I do not wish to forfeit it just yet. I shall speak with my guard and ensure my home and staff are safe.”

“Ezra, where is Lydia?” Ambrose asked as the two were left alone.

“Hopefully in Frampton by now,” he replied, already regretting the decision of sending her ahead. Had he known he would be returning home so soon he would have instructed her to wait for him.

“It is late. If you leave now you’ll be traveling in total darkness. It puts you at risk of an attack, especially if you are insisting on going alone. Stay here and return to Frampton tomorrow in the light, at least,” Ambrose insisted.

“I appreciate your concern, old friend,” Ezra found himself saying, much to his surprise, “but I will be fine.” With a smirk, he shook Ambrose’s hand and added, “In case you forgot, the dark is where I do my best work.”