Page 15 of Captured by the Earl (The Secret Crusaders #2)

CHAPTER 15

L ondon Society News:

The mysterious rescuer has reappeared.

Or has he?

Reports have emerged from all over London, purported sightings of our masked friend. Although neither collaborated nor certain, they prove he still grips the ton’s attention. The betting books are filled with wanderings, accusations and denials of his identity. Several favorites have emerged.

In other news, Lord Peyton and Lady Emma are at one of his grand estates. Before you get yourself atwitter, of course they are accompanied by a large group and properly chaperoned. Still, does it signify an official betrothal is imminent?

It was him.

The masked man. The rescuer. Her hero.

Yet how could it be? Far from London, with just a few lords nearby, and even fewer who could be the rescuer.

Far from Stanton.

Yet it was definitely the man who had saved her. He stood tall, with a grace that defied his massive size. Fierce intelligence lit his eyes, power, control and strength in every move. This predator was as smart as he was fierce.

It made him all the more dangerous.

“Who are you?” The whispered words slipped out.

He tightened. “I am not who you believe me to be.”

He spoke so low she could barely hear him. She searched his features, yet they lay hidden behind the mask and the shadow-drenched night. “You are a hero.”

“I was simply able to help in times of need.” He neither moved forward nor retreated, standing firmly in the middle of the balcony. If only the two terraces were connected, she could go directly to him. Would she recognize those eyes from close up?

She delved further into the terrace, hugging her arms around herself as she traveled beyond the warmth of the room. A cold wind blew, chilling her skin and rustling the leaves of the tall trees. She reached the wide carved balustrade and grasped its cool surface.

“It was never my intention to create some mysterious persona.” He watched her carefully. “I simply recognized opportunities where my skills could be useful.”

“So saving people is not what you do?”

He hesitated.

“It is what you do,” she breathed. “You are exactly what they say. Why do you hide? The world wants to celebrate you.”

“I’m not doing this for attention.” He took a step forward. “If the world knew the truth, it would be dangerous for those I care about.”

Those he cared about? “Do you have a wife?” The question slipped out before she could stop it. Her stomach twisted and turned.

She couldn’t be sure in the darkness, but it seemed his lips curved up ever-so-slightly. “I am not married… yet.”

The sharp feeling dissipated at once. “I won’t share your secret.”

“I believe you, but it’s still too dangerous.”

She rubbed her hands together. That he would protect those he cared about came as no surprise. Clearly he was a hero, in more way than one. “Why are you here?”

“To say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” she breathed. He’d come all this way to say farewell – unless he was one of the guests. Perhaps if they conversed more, she’d recognize his voice.

“I cannot risk any more lives. Although I will not appear again, you will be safe.” He took a step back. “Goodbye, Emma.”

He couldn’t leave yet. “Wait!” She reached out, even as the shadows swallowed him. The wind blew harder, whipping her hair around her face, eyes and mouth. He was so close, yet the space between the balconies gaped like an endless chasm, a perilous drop to the rocky ground. She pressed as close as she could against the cold bars. There was a low ledge at the foot of the balustrade. If she stepped on it, he might notice her.

She hefted herself higher, closer, reached forward…

Her foot slipped.

Thin slippers meant for little more than padding around a posh room held no traction on the smooth stone. Her feet skidded back, and her torso moved forward, hurtling toward the blackened chasm. She reached for the rail, but it was below her hips.

She plummeted.

The world turned upside down, as she plunged into the darkness, the rocks stabbing upwards like a hundred daggers. In the next instant, her descent was seized, as she violently jerked to a complete stop. Her corset slammed into her ribs, forcing the breath from her lungs. The sky soared under her feet, the ground above her head.

What had saved her? Not saved, but temporarily granted a reprieve, as the precarious situation came into focus like the edge of a knife. The hem of her dress was caught on the balustrade’s pointed spike, a small protrusion on the outside of the balcony.

She had to fight! She curled her body, frantically reaching for the ledge, yet she grasped only air. The sound of ripping pierced the night, and she jerked down inches. Another rip, and lower still, like a fish dangling on a fisherman’s hook. Hanging by a literal thread, her life danced in the wind.

Something leapt above her.

She screamed at the final ripping sound, as the dress tore free of its constraints. For a terrifying moment, she was in free fall, held by nothing but air on a decent that was certain to be fatal.

Yet suddenly, she halted.

Something grasped her legs. Caught in the clutches of the unknown, she hovered, poised between life and death. Then she was going up, up, up, and then over the railing. The world tilted and then righted, the stars once more above her, the solid ground below her feet. Yet her legs wouldn’t hold. They didn’t need to, as she was captured against a solid body.

Familiarity assaulted her.

She knew him. How, when and where played coy, yet it was a truth she could not deny. She breathed deeply, instinctively searching for his scent, yet the night’s strong aromas masked every clue. She studied his face for familiar features, yet they stood in the shadows, the little unhidden by the mask obscured by the darkness.

“Are you all right?” Gentle fingers smoothed her cheeks, sweeping her hair from her eyes. Any clarity the proximity granted his voice, the low timbre diminished, although there was something just the slightest familiar about that, too. That he remained was another testament to his sacrifice, for every moment threatened his identity.

She took a deep breath. “I am all right.” She moved back, away from his warmth and into the coldness. She had to get a better look. “Because of you.”

He stayed silent, this man who had captivated all of London. From up close, he was even more massive, his build tall and broad shouldered. If she hadn’t been sure he was part of the elite class, she was now. This was a man accustomed to power.

He almost reminded her of–

Furious knocking thundered.

Like a spirit, the presence next to her disappeared. She turned quickly. How had he gotten so quickly to the railing? He stepped on the ledge.

“No!” she cried. She reached for him, but he was too fast. He bent his knees… and leapt.

She held her breath. Yet fears were unfounded, as he jumped easily from one balcony to the next, as if no more difficult than a child playing hopscotch. Then he did it once more, and then again, leaping from balcony to balcony. A moment later, the darkness swallowed him.

The banging sounded once more. “Emma, are you all right? It’s Catherine.”

For a moment, she stood frozen, staring into the empty night.

“Emma!”

She started. What was she doing? If she didn’t answer, Catherine might find help, and the entire household could awaken. She grasped at her skirts and hurried to the door.

Catherine stood outside, clutching a candle in one hand, the other poised to knock again. Shallow grooves lined her forehead. “I awoke from a dead sleep to a scream. My bedroom is next to yours, and it came from this direction. Are you all right?”

Breathe. “I’m so sorry to have woken you. I was startled.”

Deep concern clouding her eyes, Catherine peered behind her. “What happened?”

“Really, it’s too embarrassing to share.” That was true. She had almost plummeted to her death in an attempt to attract a man’s attention.

At least it worked.

“Your dress is torn.”

Emma tightened, as the proof of her late-night foibles swept around her ankles. If not for the tear on her dress, she may have thought she conjured his presence from her imagination.

“You do not need to tell me what happened.” Catherine said quietly. It was a stark difference from Peyton, who would demand a full accounting of every minute. “As long as you are all right.”

“I am.” Thanks to her rescuer. “I appreciate the concern.”

Catherine took a step back into the hallway, lowering the candle. “Of course. I shall see you in the morning.”

As soon as the door latched shut, Emma trudged inside and sank into the feather soft bed. The door to balcony was still open, yet it didn’t matter. Her rescuer would not return tonight. He might not return at all.

Yet all hope was not lost. When he held her, she had been so certain she knew him. Of course senses were addled from the near death experience, and she could have remembered him from their other encounters or her overwrought imagination. Could it be Stanton? Perhaps.

For one crazy moment, her mind conjured Peyton.

She chuckled.

It was impossible. She’d watched him stride to the far end of the hall, passing multiple rooms before disappearing inside his own chambers. She’d even stayed for a minute or two, watching. When she returned to her room, she’d gone straight to the balcony. The masked man appeared seconds later, from the room on the opposite side. Peyton couldn’t have returned so swiftly.

She lay down, relaxing as the buttery mattress cushioned her weight. Tomorrow she would greet the rest of the party, and inquire if there were any other lords nearby. She would study each and every one, listen to every voice, compare and contrast. Her hero may have bid farewell, yet something told her she would see him again. The question was:

Would she recognize him?

That had not gone as planned.

Philip stomped through the tunnel, brushing cobwebs and dust balls out of his way. Emma and his sister were no longer talking, and both had likely gone to bed. There would be no more life-threatening entanglements tonight.

It didn’t mean the danger was over.

He reached the secret entrance to his room and flung open the panel. Stepping into his chamber, he tore off the disguise and threw it deep into a drawer, under half a dozen other items. He ran his hands through his hair.

How had he allowed this to happen?

Had he had any idea he would fluster Emma enough to risk tragedy, he never would have visited her. His heart had stopped when she flipped over the ledge, so quickly he never would’ve reached her had she plunged straight down. When he thought he had lost her, his world shattered. He was in motion before conscious thought, as instincts took control. By fate’s grace, he had saved her. Yet it came at a cost.

She had seen him up close. Not only that, but he had stayed near, spoken in his deep voice. After nearly losing her, instincts demanded he keep her secure in his arms, where she belonged. Yet had she ascertained his identity? Did she know the rescuer she admired and the betrothed she fled were one and the same?

She hadn’t exposed him right then, yet it didn’t mean she didn’t recognize him. The accident had shocked both of them, possibly postponing her desire to share any elucidations. Even if she hadn’t recognized him that moment, she may deduce the truth later, without the specter of death hovering so near. Maybe when she saw him next time. Or heard his voice again. Perhaps when he held her.

He rubbed his forehead. Reciting what-ifs would not solve his problem. If she discovered the truth, he would address it. Whatever happened, he would ensure her safety, just like he promised. Yet he also couldn’t allow her to see the life he lived in the shadows. For after tonight, it was inescapably clear how dangerous that was.

“We are painting?”

“I thought we could do something different. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Emma stepped into a drawing room filled with ornate furniture and intricate tapestries. One caught her eyes, a white knight saving a princess from a roaring dragon.

And just like that, she was transported back to the evening, to the moment that inspired a hundred dreams. Not the near tragedy, but the moment she was saved, held safely in her rescuer’s arms. She almost recognized him a hundred times in those hundred dreams, yet his identity remained just out of grasp.

Hopefully that would change today.

She strolled further into the spacious room. Decorated luxuriously, the room was designed for more formal activities, yet today it played the part of amateur art studio. There were over two dozen stations, each with a large canvas and a full set of paint pots and brushes. It was an atypical activity for a house party that composed mainly men, but for her, it would be quite enjoyable.

Catherine traced her fingers along the edge of a canvas, her gaze reverent. “You are thinking it an unusual choice.”

Emma shrugged lightly. “I am certain you have your reasons.”

Catherine glanced around. No one else had yet arrived, save for Catherine’s elderly aunts, who were sitting in the corner exchanging gossip. “Have you noticed men like to dictate what is appropriate for ladies?”

Emma grimaced. “To an appalling extent.”

“My brother, well-meaning as he is, loves to control everything. I thought I’d show him what it was like.”

Catherine smiled, yet it didn’t quite reach her eyes. This was more than just about getting back at him, Emma suspected. The young woman’s smile faltered. “Did you know we used to be inseparable? I followed Philip and Alex– I mean Lord Everly – everywhere.” For a second, Catherine’s eyes grew unfocused, as she peered into a past visible only to her.

Emma placed a hand on the younger woman’s arm.

Catherine swallowed. “I was twelve when my father died. Before then, Philip was always so carefree. When he inherited the title, I thought we’d be closer. I’d hoped... needed…” She stopped, took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. He changed after that. He disappeared from London, and from my life, for large times. When he was home, he was always so serious.”

Emma stared at her. The Peyton she described was nothing like how he acted in society. “But he’s always smiling.”

“Philip’s smiles are not as they seen. Although with you, perhaps they are.” For a moment, Catherine’s expression resembled her brother’s, full of knowing curiosity. “He’s been different since you two became arranged .”

Emma clutched the silky fabric of her dress. “I’m not sure about th–”

“Good morning, ladies.”

The words caught in her throat.

Peyton strode into the room, looking dapper as always in a light shirt and dark pants, with his auburn waves perfectly in place. Their eyes locked, and for just a moment, something flashed in his expression. He paused, as if waiting for something.

Did he know what happened last night?

In the next moment, his lips curved into a gracious smile. “I trust you had an uneventful night.”

She relaxed. “Of course.”

Yet his sister didn’t answer, and she tensed once more. Would Catherine reveal the late night adventure? Catherine parted her lips…

And nodded.

Emma breathed out.

“Excellent.” Peyton circled the room, taking in the supplies filling every available space. “What have we here?”

Catherine brightened and stepped forward. “I planned an afternoon of painting. Gentle arts for gentlemen. Do you think the lords will enjoy it?”

He was silent for a moment, leisurely stepping between the well-organized spaces, the sound of his boots echoing on the wood floor. Was he going to rebuke Catherine for the obvious ploy, damaging the relationship even more with careless words? Yet instead he nodded affably. “I certainly will.”

Catherine opened her mouth, staring at her brother as if he’d revealed he wasn’t actually Peyton, but an imposter in disguise. “You’re not upset?”

“Not at all.” His eyes were intelligent as he studied his sister. “Was I supposed to be?”

She drew back. “Of course not. I just didn’t know you enjoyed art. It’s not typical for a gentleman.”

“Perhaps not, but sometimes we must look beyond ordinary pursuits.” He put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “And sometimes we must explore for the simple reason someone else cares for it. Someone we care about very much.”

Catherine parted her lips. “I, um…” She cleared her throat as several gentlemen wandered into the room. “I better finish the preparations. Please excuse me.” She hurried away.

Peyton watched his sister, his expression soft and kind, a glimpse of the emotion he hid. It made him all the more handsome.

“That was kind of you.”

He sobered immediately, as Emma walked closer. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did.” She looked past a canvas, its blank visage a mirror of Peyton’s expression. “You’ve been making an effort with your sister ever since you returned. Despite your comments, painting is not the preferred diversion among lords.”

She stepped closer, into the woodsy scent she knew so well. He towered over her, his expression fathomless, as their connection sparked. In the next moment, she retreated. She could not allow him to affect her, not when she had two missions to complete:

Convincing lords to change their vote and…

Identifying the rescuer.

A group of men strolled into the room, stopped and blinked at the blank canvases. Several were tall and well-built, enough to be her savior?

“Are you looking for someone?”

She started at Peyton’s question. “No, of course not.”

Another group entered, including both men who could be the rescuer and targets for her influence.

“You seem very interested in the arriving lords.”

She waved her hand. “I am merely searching for acquaintances.”

“Anyone in particular?”

Several more came in, but her focus scattered. Missions faded into the background as Peyton stole her attention with those blazing amber eyes. “Stop distracting me,” she hissed.

He raised an eyebrow. “I hadn’t the foggiest idea I was distracting you. Explain to me, precisely, how I distract you?”

By being so…

Handsome, powerful, giving, thoughtful, kind, smart, delicious–

Stop it!

She sniffed. “Nothing in particular.”

Amusement danced in his expression. “Should I apologize?”

“It would be the polite thing to do.”

The amusement deepened as he edged closer, so slight no one noticed, yet enough to disrupt every traitorous sense. His breath danced on her neck, igniting scorching heat. Every touch, every caress, every kiss burned in her memory. “I am most ardently, sincerely sorry for any distraction I may have caused.”

Someone laughed in the corner, and she pulled back. His ability to make the world melt away made him far too dangerous. The only way to avoid his distraction was to avoid him. “Thank you for your efforts. I shall take my leave.”

His gaze burned into her, even as she walked away, joining a group of lords to whom she’d already been introduced. With their portly frames, none were her rescuer, yet she enjoyed a brief, yet calming conversation. Next, she travelled to another group of acquaintances, two gentlemen and a lady. This time one of the gentlemen possessed the same general build as the rescuer, yet nothing about him indicated any familiarity. Still, she filed it away for further thought, as she planted the seeds of her social causes. She brightened considerably as another group entered the room. Even if she had yet to discover the rescuer, now she had some solid leads, in addition to her progress on social action.

She turned to the newest gentleman entering the room with a smile ready.

Stopped.

Stared.

And whispered, “Stanton.”