“Not yet.” Emily stared hard into Mrs. Graham’s lined face. “There is something I must do first.”
Stephen never made it to the entrance of the house. Strong arms took hold of him from behind. A black hood blinded him, and he fought against his attacker, cursing.
He jerked his head backward, smashing it against the assailant’s face. A white-hot pain sliced his arm, and he felt the warm wetness of his own blood. He’d given Michael strict orders not to interfere, not unless it meant his death.
The shock of the pain sent the rest of the memories flashing through him. Hollingford’s body had lay bleeding in the streets, after they’d murdered him. Anant had attacked him, slicing with the blade.
Somehow, he’d managed to escape, striking back with his fists until he knocked Anant unconscious. He could almost feel the cold slickness of the cobblestones, smell the fetid odor of that night so many months before.
With a violent shove, Stephen ripped away the hood.
And stared into the face of Freddie Reynolds.
A sharp acrid smell brought him back into consciousness. Freddie must have knocked him senseless after he’d removed the hood. His head ached with a vicious throbbing, and Stephen struggled to open his eyes.
“Whitmore.” The jovial voice could only belong to Nigel Barrow. Stephen turned toward the sound and saw the smile of triumph lighting Nigel’s face. “I’ve been expecting you. Did you bring the records?”
“No. We both know you only used that as an excuse.”
Nigel shook his head. “A pity, Whitmore. I might have changed my mind about killing you, had you brought them.”
His forearm throbbed with a vicious pain; no one had bandaged the knife wound. The parlor still had a feminine air with its touches of rose and blue. Nigel pointed to a wingback chair. “Put him there.”
Stephen jerked his gaze and saw Freddie Reynolds standing behind him. Not a trace of remorse lay in the eyes of Emily’s former suitor. Stephen fought against the ropes binding him, but Freddie dragged him into the chair.
“Where are my father and Quentin?” Stephen managed.
“Oh, they’ll be along shortly,” Nigel said. “I had Anant take care of them while Freddie brought you here.”
“Was Anant always working for you? Or was he ever loyal to Hollingford?”
Nigel shook his head in regret. “He came to work for me last year, after I brought his family under my—“ he paused to consider the right word ”—protection, if you will. Anant saw that it was better to keep his loyalty to me, instead of Hollingford. In addition, I provided him with as much opium as he wished.”
Stephen did not betray a thread of his fear. “There was no need to take my family captive.”
“Oh, they brought that upon themselves.” Nigel poured himself a cup of tea from the silver pot and added several spoonfuls of sugar. “But they may be of use to me.”
“Emily believed you were a man of honor.” With a hard look toward Freddie, Stephen added, “Both of you betrayed her.”
“Freddie has been working for me for several years now,” Nigel admitted. He grimaced at the tea and added more sugar. “Killing is one of his greatest talents. Along with extortion, of course. He managed to get quite a bit of money out of Carstairs.” He lifted the cup to his lips and drank. “Few would suspect it of him, which is what makes him quite good.”
Freddie rebuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, a slight smile playing upon his lips.
“You killed Emily’s brother,” Stephen guessed. “And Carstairs.”
“I did,” Freddie admitted. “Hollingford owed me a great deal of money, and it was good to bestow justice.” The smile deepened, showing his pleasure in the deed.
Stephen struggled to loosen the ropes without drawing more attention. And yet, with each movement, the knots seemed to grow tighter. His skin had rubbed raw in a few places, but he kept working at his bonds.
The ropes did not budge, but right now he wished he could wrap them around Reynolds’s neck. He wanted to suffocate the smile of satisfaction gleaming upon Freddie’s face.
“Were you the one who attacked my wife in the garden?” Stephen gritted out.
“It was a hired man,” Nigel responded. “I sent him to talk to my niece.”
“Threaten her, you mean.”
Nigel shrugged. “Stronger means were necessary to gain what I needed. Emily knew where her brother kept his ledgers. I was afraid he’d kept records that might lead back to me.”
