Loren jerked his own head away. “Sid, string up a rope.”
The gypsy gasped, drawing Loren’s glare. The man’s fear stirred a sharp, deep, insatiable tide through Loren. He had no tolerance for beggars or miscreants like the rat who’d accosted Lady Cecilia. Sid slid off his horse and slipped a noose about the old man’s neck and jerked. Leaves stirred in a sudden breeze, their whispers on the wind forming the strangest cacophony of words.
Prin puterea binecuvântata a Sfintei Sara la Kali
Din aceasta zi încoace, ?i dincolo de vârste,
Pe luna celui de-al 7-lea fiu
Elimina?i-va sufletul cu trei ?i treizeci
Nebunia vei cadea, restul vie?ii tale lungi ?i naturale.
Asculta-ma pe tine, dupa cum juram,
Numai sânge amestecat de al meu ?i de tine
Sa-?i elibereze sufletul înnegrit.
The old man’s mouth never moved.
A chilling shudder raced from the base of Loren’s skull down the length of his spine.Impossible.Yet the words repeated over and over were an evocative chant that Loren feared would give him nightmares. What could they mean?
Who the devil cared, he demanded in a silent fury. He signaled to Sid with a sharp nod.
It seemed hours before the codger hung from the branch like a limp rag. Loren shook off the morbid trepidation, stuffing the pistol back in his pocket, though a dull throb beat at his upper back and a chill raised on his goose-prickled skin. “Get rid of him and chase the others away. Don’t dawdle, Sid. There’s a crisis of a different matter brewing.”
He didn’t mention the note he’d just burned; that would have to wait. Just another ball of many he was forced to manage. He spurred his horse in a gallop.
He was desperate to see Lady Maudsley. It was ironic how the woman was his saving grace, though she had no inkling. He flew across the rolling English countryside, the trees rattling with those strange discordant words, until he reached the outer boundaries of the inner gardens.
From there, Loren watched the carriages pulling in on the cobbled drive. Servants scurried forward from the portico, gathering luggage while grooms assisted smartly attired men and women.
The influx of arrivals narrowed to one, easing the band strangulating Loren’s chest. The familiar shield of blue and gold topped with a crown glinted in the afternoon sun, showing that the Kimpton carriage had indeed arrived. Satisfaction mingled with relief roiled through Loren. Donning his most gracious host’s mask, he urged his mount forward in a trot.
Two riders raced down the drive, reaching the carriage before Loren. “Bugger it all.”
The day couldn’t have taken a worse turn.
“Calm yourself, Brockway.” Kimpton’s amusement set Brock further on edge. “We are within a stone’s throw. Ah, look.” He pointed to the Kimpton carriage now drawing to a stop in the lengthy drive. “I’ll be damned,” Kimpton said softly.
All Brock’s senses went on alert. “What?”
“I believe the new Lord Maudsley is finally making his debut to society.”
“Yes. Yes. He made an appearance at Maudsley House a couple of days ago.”
Kimpton’s features stilled. “Is that so?”
Brock knew something of the Maudsley heir, knew he’d been in India the past few years, knew he’d been a part of the underground club known as the Athenaeum Order to which Edward Ninnis had also belonged. It was a disturbing coincidence. Brock hadn’t wanted to believe such a club actually existed, but in light of the late Maudsley’s kidnapping of Irene and Lady Kimpton from Kimpton’s town home the year before, he feared the Order was very much alive.
He narrowed his eyes on the man’s lace cuffs. “Yes. As I understand it, he just returned home from a long stint in India.” Grimacing, Brock set his horse into a canter. He slid off his horse before coming to a complete stop, reaching the cab door before the nearest footman. By the time Kimpton had dismounted and sauntered over, Brock was assisting Lady Kimpton down. Pleasure lighted her features at spotting her husband.
Blinding envy stabbed Brock. He would suffer any punishment at Ginny’s hand to have her look at him that way again. Next came Lady Kimpton’s maid. Then Ginny’s maid. A good sign.
Brock waited… and waited. Ginny still hadn’t emerged. “Lady Maudsley?” He glanced over to Lady Kimpton with a raised brow. She had no interest in answering his unasked question; she was preening too much under her husband’s undivided attention. He poked his head inside and almost collided with her, knocking her perky little hat askew. “Ginny?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Move, you lummox.” she hissed.
