The light of the lantern dazzled his pupils as Evie entered the grotto. He had to leash his impulse to pull her into his arms and hold her tight. Instead, he stayed hidden in case the blackmailer had eyes and ears nearby. He heard the swish of her skirts and the soft sound of the jewelry box being placed upon the niche.
Then she was gone, leaving him in darkness.
The shadows seemed to grow deeper as he waited. He hadn’t worn a watch for fear that its ticking might give him away. Minutes felt like hours as he awaited his adversary. His mind wandered—from the consoling knowledge that Evie would be safely back at the manor by now to the satisfaction he would feel when he finally captured the blackguard. He thought about the grotto, too, and its mystical connection to Evie’s dreams.
A rational man, he didn’t believe in ghosts. Yet he couldn’t deny he felt something—a presence or energy—in this strange hollow. Before the light had died, he’d seen the spiral of shells and the inscription on the wall that Evie had described.
You are mine, and I am yours. Not only for ease, but for every trial. This is the way of love: to stay, to forgive, to begin again.
Was it Rosalinda and Thomas’s version of Ad finem fidelis? Whatever the case, he couldn’t argue with it. His marriage had taught him that love was about committing to one another and taking chances despite mistakes.
He set aside sentiment and focused on monitoring the grotto’s entrance. At times, his vision played tricks on him, picking up movement where there was none. Then he saw a faint flicker; he blinked, and it was still there—growing brighter, getting closer. He made out a lantern held by a cloaked figure.
James’s muscles bunched in readiness as the shadow moved into the grotto. The man set the lamp down and picked up the jewelry box. He checked the goods, then stowed the box in the satchel strapped across his chest.
James pounced.
“What the bloody?—”
He wrestled the villain to the ground. It was like grappling with a lamprey. The man was slippery and strong, and just when James thought he had the upper hand, the bastard kneed him in the groin. The dirty move made him see stars. His grip loosened, and the bounder broke free, making a run for it.
Staggering to his feet, James caught his breath and yelled, “Grab him! He’s getting away.”
He heard the answering shouts of his brothers and Papa. Grabbing the blackmailer’s lamp, he shoved aside the pulsing agony and dashed out of the grotto. He saw dark figures racing through the woods and joined the chase, passing Papa and reaching Ethan.
He sprinted side by side with his brother.
“The bastard has the speed of a bloody thoroughbred,” Ethan panted.
“We cannot let him escape,” James bit out.
Pumping his arms harder, he propelled himself forward. He ran as if his future depended upon it. His muscles burned, sweat stinging his eyes as he gained ground. The sound of rushing water grew louder, and the trees thinned, the forest opening into a clearing eerily lit by moonlight. Swollen by recent storms, the stream cut through the land in a dark, frothing rush. Spotting Owen and the blackmailer running up the sharply inclining bank, James followed. He fought for balance on the slippery grass, mud sucking at his boots. One wrong step would send him toppling into the churning waters.
He was less than a hundred feet away when Owen caught up with their foe, tackling him from behind. James’s heart shot into his throat when both men pitched toward the water’s edge. They caught their balance, locked in battle, moonlight dashing their shadows over the churning waves. Owen fought like a man possessed—with a blind and brutal ferocity that had been foreign to his nature before the war.
James raced toward them, but the villain managed to twist free of his brother’s hold. With an inhuman howl, Owen lunged at him, and the pair wrestled ever closer to the stream’s edge. James was close enough to see the wildness of his brother’s eyes when the earth gave way beneath the blackmailer’s feet. The man fell into the water, screaming, his grip tightening on Owen and dragging him to his knees.
“Let go, Owen!” James yelled. “For God’s sake, let go!”
But Owen didn’t. He remained where he was, kneeling on dissolving ground, holding onto the enemy’s hand—as if he could not bear to let another soul slip away. Or as if he were ready to follow the other… James hurled himself forward, grabbing Owen by the waist. In that instant, he saw the villain’s hand slip from his brother’s. The bounder’s shout was lost in the roar of the water, his body disappearing in the vicious current.
Feeling Owen’s shuddering tension, James said hoarsely, “He’s gone, brother. There is nothing more we can do. Come with me now.”
For a heartbeat, Owen didn’t respond. Then his breath hitched in the softest of sobs…and he allowed James to haul him back from the edge. They reached solid ground just as the bank rumbled, collapsing into the thunderous tide.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Three days later, Evie groggily reached for James.
He wasn’t in bed beside her. As she came fully awake, blinking in the watery light, she realized where he was. The finale with the blackmailer—Merrow, as it turned out—had been grim and shocking. Yet while that matter had been laid to rest, another problem had reared its head. The deadly struggle with Merrow had revived Owen’s demons. By day, Owen was jittery and withdrawn, his spirits low; at night, he fought his way out of nightmares. An unspoken fear gripped the family: had the dark business reopened the invisible wounds of war?
Everyone was determined to do their part to prevent Owen from regressing to his former state. James and his siblings had taken turns spending the night with him. Mama and Papa hovered, as much as Owen allowed, and Evie tried to provide cheerful distraction. She had to drag him into the garden, but once there, he talked with her about their shared interest in plants. In her efforts to engage his mind with something harmless, she had even shared her latest botanical puzzle. He listened, if somewhat half-heartedly, as she discussed her theories regarding the disappearance of Chuddums’s cherries. In the Lydells’ almanacs, she’d found mention of the “Widow’s Weeds Moth,” a dull grey creature that had once been commonplace but had disappeared around the time the cherry crops had begun to dwindle.
Coincidence? Evie thought not. She had asked Owen to join her on her next visit to Ned Lydell’s farm, and when he didn’t turn her down, she considered it a victory. However, that didn’t assuage her gnawing guilt. This was her fault. She had embroiled Owen in her troubles, and he was paying dearly for helping her—the whole family was. James, who ought to be preparing for the approaching hustings, had instead been cleaning up the mess she’d caused.
After Merrow had fallen into the stream, James and his papa had gone to the magistrate and given an account of what happened. The story, while altered to protect Evie’s secret, remained faithful to the truth. A villain had stolen Evie’s necklace. James and the others had caught him in the act and given chase. He’d fallen into the water and appeared to have drowned.
The magistrate and his men found the body the next day, tangled in a thicket of reeds downstream. When Evie had been called upon to identify the thief, she’d looked at the still, clean-cut features and sandy hair and recognized Merrow immediately. She’d verified that he was the one who’d taken her necklace…and that had been that. Now her blackmailer was dead, the threat gone. Yet relief remained elusive, and she was plagued by restless unease. An inner voice whispered that darkness would always follow her and she could never outrun it.
