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Chapter Twenty-Six

“ H e is a fool, that brother of mine,” Charlotte snapped as Eleanor climbed out of their carriage the day after the fight.

Spencer had been gone all day and had left no note or message to hint at where he had gone.

“He disappeared often when he first returned to London, but other than that…” Charlotte made an annoyed noise but stopped when she peered at the house before them. “This is your Mr. Gray’s house?”

“Oi, he is not my Mr. Gray,” Eleanor insisted.

“What a shame. I thought we got along so well last time.”

The two of them looked up at the voice coming from the open doorway.

As he had last time, Julian Gray leaned against the doorframe, his hip cocked as he grinned at them. “Do not linger, beautiful ladies. Come closer, I promise to bite.”

His eyes flashed as they stepped into the townhouse.

Once the door was closed, Eleanor breathed easier. Her title protected her, but she was still wary without Spencer. But he was a bruise she could not stop pressing, and she had to force him out of her mind.

“Do enter my abode,” Julian urged, nodding toward the drawing room.

“May I fetch you some wine? We can take a bottle upstairs and get comfortable with one another. It has been some time since I have been blessed with two stunning ladies.” His voice dropped to a purr as he leaned into Eleanor.

“Will your husband join us? I do believe we have unfinished business.”

Charlotte looked positively stricken and scandalized, but Julian only laughed, spinning away and reaching for two glasses to fill with wine.

“Do you wish to indulge in pleasures of the flesh, Your Grace?”

His question was directed at Eleanor, of course, but it was Charlotte who stepped forward.

“We are here to speak about Lord Follet.”

Julian paused. “I see. Here I was hoping to enjoy two ladies in my bed for the first time in a while.”

He exhaled heavily as if he was so burdened, but rejoined them nonetheless.

Eleanor didn’t waste a moment in gulping down the wine, needing to take the edge off her nerves.

“And you are?” Julian asked. “You are so lovely, I forgot to ask your name. Those eyes… they are like the deepest of oceans. Tell me, have your depths ever been explored? I am but a humble diver?—”

“Mr. Gray,” Eleanor interrupted, seeing how Charlotte blushed so furiously her cheeks must have burned. “This my sister-in-law, Lady Charlotte Vanserton. She is Lord Follet’s fiancée, as I was Lord Belgrave’s fiancée.”

Understanding dawned on Julian, and all mirth drained from his face, replaced by a hard seriousness just like when Spencer had mentioned the two men.

“I looked into Follet after you were gone,” he said.

“I did not like the thought of not knowing something that might help protect other women. Things have been rather quiet, and apparently, neither man is happy about it, but they cannot seem to agree on a direction. Furthermore, you have come on the right night. Lord Follet is expecting a shipment tonight. It is coming from—ah, here, I wrote it down.”

He reached up to the mantelpiece and snatched a piece of paper before handing it to her. “I tried to decode it, but I have gotten nowhere.”

“ The haven at the heart of the woods ,” Charlotte read aloud, peering at the note. “Whatever does that mean?”

“That is what I have been puzzling?—”

“Hartswood,” Eleanor said suddenly, recalling the name on a signpost the night she had fled St. Euphemia’s. “That is where St. Euphemia’s is located. An old Jacobean manor in Hartswood.”

“Ah! A clever play with words,” Julian praised. “I am sure I would have come to the same conclusion. Regardless, that is where the shipment will pass through.”

“Then we will go,” Charlotte declared.

Eleanor had told her the full extent of the operation, and had held her when she cried for the women, for the life she may have found herself trapped into had Eleanor not risked her life to warn her.

“No,” Eleanor said firmly. “I know that place. I will go alone.”

“You will do no such thing,” Charlotte huffed.

“Oh, do keep arguing,” Julian purred, lightening the dread hanging over them. “It does get a man going.”

Charlotte squirmed but fought a smile, until she looked back at Eleanor. “You do not get to play martyr alone. You left me behind once, and had I known, I would have saved you. Do not go without me again, Eleanor. Let me fight this with you— for you, as your friend.”

“I told him to go home, so Heaven knows where he has gotten to.”

Theodore’s voice came from inside the parlor, and Eleanor hurried there, wondering if he was discussing Spencer. But as soon as she and Charlotte entered, they were caught by Lady Montagu.

“Where on earth have you been!?” Lady Montagu cried. “Heavens, it is nighttime!”

“Aunt Katherine, it is barely dark,” Charlotte argued. “Do not fret.”

“Do not fret? Do not fret ?! You are unwed, Charlotte! Do you know how terrible it makes me look when you wander the streets at night? How I worried? Even Lord Avington was concerned.”

“Oh, Aunt Katherine, please . Please do not start. I am twenty; I am no longer a child who has jumped out of her window again.”

“You used to jump out of your window?” Theodore asked with a smirk.

“Indeed,” Charlotte answered. “I was certain I could find my way back to Everdawn.”

Eleanor’s heart stuttered at the innocent sadness of such a thing, but she was quickly distracted by Lady Montagu drawing closer.

“You ought to know better, Your Grace,” Lady Montagu chastised. “You do not need a chaperone, but Charlotte does. Do not tell me you were searching for my reckless nephew.”

“No,” Eleanor said defensively. “No, we were not.”

“Then where were you?”

Eleanor and Charlotte exchanged a glance.

“It does not matter!” Charlotte insisted. “We are home and safe. Heavens, can everybody stop thinking that the world will end if little, defenseless Charlotte is left unattended? I am a grown woman who can make her own decisions about where she goes, who she goes with, and what she discusses!”

Her cry came out passionately, silencing the room.

“Charlotte,” Eleanor said gently. “Your aunt is only looking out for you. She is right, I should have thought it over.”

“I am not your responsibility! I am not a child. Goodness, why is everybody claiming to be responsible for me when I have my own life?” Charlotte backed away, shaking her head, annoyed but not angry with her friend.

She scowled at them once more before storming off, announcing she was going to the library, for books were far better company than her scolding aunt.

“Perhaps I ought to go after her,” Theodore suggested rather quickly. Eleanor eyed him suspiciously. “It seems I am the only one here who has not made a decision for her. That seems a rather touchy subject at present.”

Before anybody could refuse him, he dashed off.

The minutes ticked by, and Eleanor thought about apologizing to Lady Montagu, but in the end, she muttered something about seeking out Charlotte to make sure she was not flinging accusations at poor Theodore.

But when she ventured into the library, the sight that greeted her stopped her short.

“Oh!” She stumbled across the threshold, immediately turning her back on the embracing couple. “I did not see a thing! Not one thing!”

“Yes, you did,” Charlotte sighed. “Come in.”

Eleanor slowly turned back, unable to keep her smile off her mouth despite everything. For she had caught Theodore embracing Charlotte, his mouth lowering to hers, but not quite making contact yet. She knew she had sensed something brewing between them.

“Perhaps somebody might explain,” she teased, “for it seems you have secrets of your own, Charlotte.”

But before her friend could answer, a scream tore through the townhouse, making Eleanor freeze.

She sprang back into action, the three of them running for the parlor. Just as they entered, the windows smashed through, stones thrown to break a way in, and she screamed. One of the stones was on the floor by Lady Montagu’s body.

Eleanor’s stomach churned.

No less than six masked faces emerged from the shadows and stalked into the parlor. She could not discern any features, their all-black attire covering them.

They quickly gained on them, but Theodore threw himself in front of Eleanor and Charlotte.

“Stay back!” he yelled. “Stay away from them.”

But the masked men did not speak. One of them stepped forward, huffing a breath as he drew a pistol and pointed it right at Theodore.

“Lord Avington!” Charlotte cried, trying to reach for him.

Eleanor held her back, pulling her away from the door, but more men were there, blocking their way.

Charlotte let out a dismayed cry as she sagged against Eleanor, watching Theodore helplessly.

“Move,” the armed man ordered. “We have our orders.”

“Your orders are utter?—”

A crack tore through the room as the pistol went off. Blood sprayed, and Eleanor cried out. Charlotte let out a blood-curdling scream as she reached for Theodore again. He crumpled to the floor, clutching his side.

Panic struck Eleanor, her wide eyes fixed on the men. She spun around and reached for something behind her, but before she could grab it, her body was slammed into the wall.

“Get off me !” she screamed, kicking back and jabbing with her elbow to no avail.

Charlotte was sobbing. “Tell me he is not dead. Tell me he is not. Tell me—” A hard blow to the head cut her off, and she crumpled.

“Charlotte!” Eleanor screamed, her nerves frayed as she trembled. “Charlotte!”

But her friend lay on the floor, and one of the masked men stood over her. He cocked his head and gave her a mocking bow.

“Your Grace,” he drawled.

Eleanor felt something hit her head before her world went black.

Chaos reigned as soon as Spencer made it back to Everdawn House. He had taken another walk after leaving Theodore’s house with a promise to return home after clearing his head, but he had been too fearful of facing Eleanor bloodied and injured.

But as soon as he saw the broken glass and the trail of blood, his heart rate spiked. He ran, chasing the trail down the hallway.

“What happened?” he demanded, skidding into the parlor.

He found servants on the floor, bloodied and bruised, and Katherine, and?—

“Heavens, Theodore.”

His friend lay sprawled on the floor, his face paler even than his aunt’s.

His heart thundered in his chest.

Eleanor… Where is my wife? Where is my wife?!

Theodore’s eyes closed, his lips pale, but he spoke, “Belgrave.”

That one word was the only warning he needed.

Dread sank into Spencer’s gut like a rock. He staggered backward, gripping the doorframe, barely having entered the room. His legs threatened to buckle, but he would not be weak. No, for he had distanced himself to protect her.

But that had only brought her to the harm he had feared.

Belgrave, Belgrave, Belgrave.

“Men came in,” his aunt whispered. “They—they were masked. I saw them through the window. They took them.” A sob tore from her throat. “They took Charlotte and Eleanor.”

“ Where ?” he shouted, already running back down the hallway.

But part of him already knew.

The place both of them were meant to end up, according to Belgrave’s and Follet’s plans. The wretched, beating heart of every terrible fate that had befallen those poor women. The place where it had all begun.

St. Euphemia’s.

Rage ripped through him as he stormed out, mounting his horse in one furious motion.

Night had fallen, but he did not care. He had to rescue them. He had to know they were safe. He could not let more women die because of his cowardice, because he had not been there— he had not been there.

His head spun, and he pressed a fist to his chest to tether himself.

The anger kept him anchored. Desperation kept him fast, urging his horse on and on through the dark countryside.

“I will burn that damned place to the ground,” he growled as he rode hard through the night.