“For this, you should have summoned me to you,” she insisted, but in her head, she thought,I should have gone to him. I should have gone to him days ago.
Stoker was quiet for a moment, watching her. “Apparently, the would-be assassin has been found, and after a rather costly negotiation, the hired man revealed who wanted me dead. Would you believe it was the old duke?”
“No,”Sabine marveled. She dropped her hands, pressing the letters into her skirts. “The Duke of Wrest tried to have you killed?”
Stoker shrugged. “I was as shocked as you. The duke was named by the assassin out of thin air. I’d never mentioned Wrest’s previous contact with me to the investigator, and the mercenary is an Italian, someone who’s been following me for months.”
“But why would he try to have you killed?” Sabine asked, scooping up his hat and cane and thrusting them at him.
“Another attempt to get a piece of my fortune, I assume. The duke’s overtures to me had become very petulant and demanding. I had finally stopped taking delivery of them. At the time I thought him half-mad and entirely pathetic, but I never dreamed he would have a thirst for blood. My God, when I think of the danger I put you in when I asked you to look in on him.” His expression twisted into a scowl.
“But what of the danger you’re in now?” she asked, waving the letter.
He shrugged. “I believe my invincibility has already been referenced.”
“Do not joke!” she said.
“I’m not worried about it, Sabine,” he sighed. “When I think back to the afternoon I was attacked—and my memories are blurred—the man lured away my crew, occupying them elsewhere. He paid a sham estate agent to lead me down an isolating road. I thought I was being shown a private estate for sale. Instead, I was ambushed. It was an amateur mistake for me to be so taken in, but Portuguese is not my strongest language and I was caught up in the idea that my future happiness rested in this coastal mansion—whatever it was. Buying a big house on a high cliff was perhaps the most civilized undertaking on which I’d ever embarked. I’d let down my guard because that is presumably what civilized people do. I nearly died for my error, but it won’t happen again. I am now... aware. Hilltop mansion or no. I’m not worried, and you needn’t worry, either.”
Sabine thought about this, thought about this civilized house he meant to buy in another country. There was so much yet to discuss. But he was limping toward the path. She looked down at the letters in her hand.
“If there is no worry,” she said, “then we must seek out the old duke immediately.”
“No,wemust not,” he said levelly.
“Not to accuse him, of course—not yet, at any rate—but to discern how guilty he may... look? How desperate or calculating. I wonder if he knows you survived?”
“My investigator and I are doubtful he knows I washed up in England.”
“But what is your plan?” asked Sabine, following him down the garden path. “A man who hires an assassin is as guilty as the murderer himself. The duke should be prosecuted.”
“My plan is to sail my investigator home on my recovered brig. When he’s in London, we’ll take the matter to the police.”
“So casual,” she said softly, “about an attempt on your life.”
He shrugged. “I still draw breath, and the Duke of Wrest is not my first enemy, Sabine. Perhaps my convalescence altered my perspective, but I’m not set on vigilante justice like you are. My years of score settling are over. If the statements and evidence found by the investigator hold true, the case will be easy enough for the authorities to manage. He’s a pathetic old man.”
“He is truly doddering and his station is quite humble,” she said, falling in step beside him. “I am shocked he had the wherewithal to hire a mercenary, to be honest.”
“I have seen desperate old men do terrible things in service to their vices all over the world,” he said. “I’ve no doubt.”
They walked in silence for a moment, and then she said, “I’m not set on vigilante justice, by the way. I simply cannot risk accusing Dryden and then having the charge dismissed or shoved to the side. I’m a woman, don’t forget, and Sir Dryden has cultivated his respectability and aplomb for years. He will challenge any charge brought by the police. He will play Lord of the Manor. The more obviously,plainlyguilty he appears, the better chance I have. That’s my entire goal. To be taken seriously, and for Dryden to be obviously, plainly guilty.”
They walked on a moment, the leafy path giving way to the green grass and the road ahead.
After a moment she asked, “What is your goal, Stoker?”
He did not answer until they’d reached the edge of the park. Finally, he said, “I’ll not achieve any goal until I’ve healed, will I?” He winced a little.
That’s no answer,she thought, but she’d pressed him enough. She simply said, “No. I suppose you will not.” She laced her shoulders beneath his arm because—well, why shouldn’t they walk home arm in arm? She found she could notnottouch him.
He stiffened briefly and missed a step.
“Stop,” she said. “Seriously, Stoker, you must stop.”
