Regency: Rakes & Reputations: A Rake by Midnight / The Rake's Final Conquest

“How did you draw him out of hiding?”

“Miss Race. His fiancée. She interceded for me. He was dreadfully afraid of Mr. Henley. He said he knew something that Mr. Henley would kill him for.” Suddenly the horror of the situation struck her. “Oh! Miss Race! She will be devastated. I should go to her. Be with her when she hears the awful news.”

“Did she come with him?”

“She came with friends. Mr. Metcalfe was in the habit of meeting her wherever she went.”

“Then she would best hear it tomorrow in the privacy of her own home. But think carefully, Eugenia. Did Metcalfe say what he knew?”

“That is not the sort of thing I’d be likely to forget, sir. No. He did not tell me what it was.”

He cupped her cheek and turned her face to his. “Now I’ve made you angry. That wasn’t my intention.”

She flinched at his touch. “I dislike being interrogated as if I’ve done something wrong.”

“Wrong? No, Eugenia. But you’ve done something reckless and dangerous. You’ve put yourself at risk when you’ve promised you wouldn’t. Ask questions. That’s what you said you were going to do.”

Gina’s conscience tweaked her. That was all she’d done. So far. But she’d made plans to do more with Ned. She would have to meet him tomorrow night and beg off. The incident with Henley had shaken her more than she’d wanted to admit.

James ran his thumb over her lower lip, his voice deadly calm. “‘Tis swollen, Eugenia. Did Henley steal a kiss?”

“He had his hand over my mouth. He was dragging me away from the arbor.” To kill her and leave her body beside Mr. Metcalfe’s, no doubt.

He leaned forward slowly, giving her time to turn away. But she couldn’t. His mouth was soft and gentle as he cherished her lower lip before took her whole mouth in a kiss no less exciting than those that had come before, but somehow more comforting, reassuring.

The carriage stopped in front of Andrew’s house, jolting her out of the hypnotic hold James had over her. Slowly, and with a heavy sigh, he released her scant moments before the driver opened the door. He got out and offered his hand to help her down.

“Are you returning to the masque?”

“Yes. Charlie is waiting and we will need to inform Mr. Morris that there is a dead body in his garden. He has likely sent for Wycliffe already.”

“You will let me know what happens?”

“Tomorrow.” He took her arm, walked her to the door and waited while she rummaged for her key in her reticule. He took it from her and unlocked the door. “Good evening, Eugenia,” he said as he opened the door.

She stepped into the foyer and stopped. At least eight crates were stacked floor to ceiling just inside the door. Suddenly she could not breathe. Had Mama found early passage?

“Eugenia? What …”

Alerted by her sudden halt, he followed her into the foyer. “You did not mention you were leaving,” he said after a moment.

“I did not know.” She turned and looked at him. “Mama must have found an earlier departure.”

“When?”

She shook her head. “She did not say a word to me. Passage must have become available suddenly.”

He looked at her and she knew there was something he wanted to say, but he merely bowed, turned on his heel, and closed the door behind him as he departed.

The thought of Mr. Henley escaping justice haunted her, but the realization that she might never see James again tore at her heart. How had she let things go so far? How had she let herself love James?

She could not change one, but she could do something about the other. There was no more time for fear or hesitation. Tomorrow she would meet Ned as planned, and she would do whatever she must to bring Henley’s reign of terror to an end.

As he climbed back in his carriage and gave his driver instructions to return to the masquerade, cold fury gripped Jamie’s viscera. Once again, Henley had damaged Eugenia. Once again, Jamie had failed to protect her. But any qualms he’d had about killing Henley to prevent a public trial had disappeared the instant he’d seen her swollen lip and the tiny bruise on one side of her throat. The knowledge that Eugenia had been so close to death horrified and angered him. Henley would pay for that.

Even more unsettling was the realization that his time with Eugenia was over. She would be gone from London and from his life. And the emptiness would return—the mindless, meaningless affairs, the endless days and nights, the soul-deep loneliness that no amount of friends or family could fill. Since he’d met her, the emptiness had receded and been filled with memories of her voice, her eyes, the warmth of her skin, the lushness of her mouth and the sweetness of her sighs.

No doubt it was for the best. He’d take that post with the Foreign Office. He’d lose himself in service to the king. Somewhere, he’d find a meaning for his hitherto wasted life.

On his arrival back at the masquerade, Lord Marcus Wycliffe was waiting for him in the foyer. “Charlie is with Mr. Morris in his private study. I said we’d join them as soon as you arrived.”

Jamie nodded, noting that the orchestra still played and that guests were still strolling the rooms. “Has he told you what’s afoot?”

Wycliffe rolled his eyes heavenward as he led Jamie down a corridor to Morris’s study. “Just that there is a body in the garden.”

Jamie nodded as Wycliffe knocked and opened the study door. Charlie and Mr. Morris turned to them, and Jamie noted the strained look on Morris’s face. Without asking, Charlie went to a sideboard and a bottle of brandy to pour two more glasses.

“Now that we’re all here, someone damn well better tell me what is going on here,” Morris said.

Jamie took a glass from his brother. “I suppose Charlie told you there’d been an incident in the gardens?”

“And that’s all he’d say until you and Wycliffe arrived. I thought I saw you earlier.”

“I took the young woman in question home. I thought you’d want to keep this as quiet as possible.”

“What, damn it all? What should I keep quiet?”

“One of your guests was assaulted.”

“What? Who?”

“Miss O’Rourke. Rest assured, she is well and safely home. I cannot say the same for one of your other guests.”

“Damn cryptic of you, Hunter.”

“First, I wanted to see your guest list and ask if you spoke with Cyril Henley tonight?”

Morris reluctantly riffled through his desk drawer, brought forth a list of names three pages long. “Henley? I haven’t seen him for months. I do not think he was invited tonight.”

Since Morris did not seem willing to turn the guest list over, Jamie leaned forward and took it. He scanned the names until he found one he was looking for. Oddly, Henley had been invited, but so had Metcalfe. And that raised the question, why had Morris lied? He would have been the one to provide his wife with the specific names of friends he wanted invited.

“I encountered Henley in the garden,” he said. “He was the man who assaulted Miss O’Rourke.”

“Henley …” Morris flushed with a look half angry, half disbelieving. “Why would he assault Miss O’Rourke?”

Morris had to be aware of Henley’s reputation with women. “His reasons aside, Miss O’Rourke recognized him. He wore a leper’s costume to mask his identity. What of Stanley Metcalfe?”

“Er, yes. I believe Metcalfe was invited.”