Time ticked by with endless precision as she waited for the end of this maze to appear. Finally, her foot hit something and she sighed with relief. Moving her arms out in front of her, her palms felt wood. She prayed it was another door. Feeling downward, she felt a knob and turned it. If it was locked, she wasn’t sure what she might do. Who knew how long it would take anyone to find her?
Thankfully, luck was on her side as it opened. A blessed window shone magnificent light into the room and she could have cried with relief. She rushed to it and looked outside, finding that she retained a similar view from her bedchamber. It appeared she was still in the house but in some sort of attic. Now that she considered it, she found it odd that she had never seen an attic opening in this house, but obviously Drake had the space altered to suit him, complete with a secret room in which to hide.
Knowing that if she needed to escape, she could climb out onto the roof, Fleur turned and began to inspect her surroundings.
She turned to see a cot along one wall, beneath a single painting of a man in the midst of a dense forest. Fleur walked over and lightly touched some of the professional brush strokes. She wondered if Drake had fashioned this piece but then she saw it was signed from a well-known artist. She was surprised that he might have such a piece in his collection and yet, chose to display it in such dismal surroundings.
Turning from the image, she walked over to the crude desk sitting in the midst of a scattering of newsprint clippings. Wooden shelves were filled with ancient leather-bound tomes that looked as old as England itself. She bent down to read some of the titles and was surprised to find most of them had to do with law. But there were other items dedicated to agriculture, nautical expertise, science and philosophy. There were also books dedicated to the study of Latin, French, and Italian. There was a wealth of knowledge in this room, most of which she had only glimpsed in a museum. And yet, Drake had this treasure trove completely at his disposal.
She moved toward the desk and began to inspect the clippings. There was a tallow candle that had burned halfway, wax overflowing onto the handle and spilling onto the desk. A pair of wire rimmed spectacles and a magnifying glass were also present among the chaos. She picked up the latter and began to rummage through the various articles that had been removed for whatever importance he had deemed necessary.
She read about men losing everything to gambling debts and living the rest of their lives in debtor’s prison. In every article that she read, they shocked her to her core, because something told her this was a personal accounting of Drake’s conquests through the years, including the ruination of a prominent baron, Lord Devonshire.
Suddenly, a horrible thought struck her and she began to riffle through the newer articles that hadn’t been tinged with age. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but something told her she would know it when she saw it.
And there it was.
Her hand shook, her eyes widening in shock as she spied an article about Mr. Porter himself. It was clipped from a scandal sheet, showcasing a ghost of the underground that had been deemed, ‘The Devil,’ for his dark dealings among the outer fringes of the city. He was feared by many with some going so far as to claim his actions were nothing more than historical folklore, that a simple commoner couldn’t possibly have that sort of drastic reach.
With numb fingers, she allowed the paper to flutter back to the desk. She had believed that there might have been some redeeming qualities to the man she had shared her bed with the night before, but she had to doubt that conviction after what she’d just read. There was no denying the offenses he had done in his lifetime. To imagine that he had gone to such lengths to gain the success he had now was almost too much for her to comprehend. He had to be ‘The Devil’ in order to commit these offenses so effortlessly, so coldly.
She heard the scuff of a boot and she glanced up to see Drake’s silhouette framed in the doorway. She gasped in alarm and moved backward until she hit the bookshelf. For many tense minutes she waited for him to speak.
He said nothing, did nothing. His expression showed nothing.
Finally, the damning evidence of his misdeeds caused her to speak. “Is this true?” she whispered in horror. She pointed at the desk. It wasn’t as though he could deny any of it. The truth was there in literal black and white.
“Yes.”
A part of her respected the fact he could admit to such heinous activities without restraint, and yet, a part of her trust crumbled right then. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, perhaps for him to deny it all, or try to find a way to explain the nightmare that was printed there. But it was obvious he wasn’t going to do either. Nevertheless, she had to try to find a way to make some sort of sense out of it all. “Is this some sort of… trophy room for your exploits?” She shook her head in disgust. “A place you can go to bask in all the chaos you’ve inflicted on so many others?”
The condemning accusation hung in the air for a long time, so long that she didn’t know if he would even answer. “I had my reasons.”
It was a cryptic answer, but she supposed it didn’t matter if he went into a grand detailed explanation or not. The damage was done. These people were dead or spending the rest of their lives in misery. Because of him.
A sickening thought abruptly occurred to her and she put a hand to her stomach to quell the sudden nausea. “Is this what you’d intended to do to my brother? Tome?”
His gaze was as hard as steel. “No.”
“Really?” she demanded. “Because these articles would suggest differently.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “They call you ‘The Devil.’”
His expression didn’t alter. “I was that man at one time. I didn’t care about anyone but myself and what I could gain,” he returned flatly.
“What’s different now? What’s changed?” she snapped. Her chest ached to the point she wondered if her heart was breaking. She had told herself that she hadn’t started to develop feelings for this man, but apparently her heart didn’t understand that refusal.
Rather than answer her query directly, he moved to the painting. Standing in front of it, he spoke quietly in that velvety voice. “Do you know why I bought this particular painting?”
She didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure she could, her throat was so tight.
“For the first time in my life I could connect to something. The man in that dense forest.”
He exhaled heavily and Fleur closed her eyes. She didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t want to allow herself to feel empathy for someone who would eventually hurt her, that would cause her demise as he had so many countless others. A leopard seldom changed his spots and she had no doubt he would have treated her brother just as shabbily if she hadn’t intervened and taken his place. The single reason she wasn’t expunged from his life now was for reasons of his own that she couldn’t begin to deduce. She’d believed it was merely revenge, and looking at the articles scattered about the desk, she could easily think that was the sole reason.
And yet…
The gentle way he had made love to her the night before also told her that perhaps there might be a small bit of redemption left inside of him, that his heart wasn’t completely as black as coal. Unfortunately, that was the part that drew her to him.
He turned to her and she told herself to stand strong against the magnetism that called to her, that made her yearn to go to his side. “For years, I was that lost soul, searching for some sort of light in the darkness. I had wealth and respect, everything I had demanded for myself, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more, but I didn’t know what that was. All I knew was that I didn’t think there could be anything innocent and pure left in my miserable existence, and then—” He took a step closer to her. And another. And another, until he stood directly in front of her. “I saw you.”
