Rhys looked through the crack in the carriage’s curtains. The sun was high in the sky. Another day had begun without him contacting his new wife. She would be furious.
If he had not feared for her life, he would never have stayed away so long, but he could not risk d’Eglantine seeing her.
He wondered whether Amanda was more angry or hurt. Her suggestion that their marriage be one of convenience still pained him. Though now that he’d ignored her for nearly two days he doubted she’d ever believe he sincerely cared for her.
He supposed she might be worried about him, though imagining her in a right fury was easier. If the afternoon’s activities did involve his murder, he would never know what her reaction had been, and he’d never be able to explain his absence or the fact that he loved her. Those thoughts were enough to help him summon all the energy and bravado he could.
After an hour or so, the carriage turned down a narrow drive and stopped near a hunting lodge. D’Eglantine exited, and Rhys followed, all his senses alert.
When they entered the lodge, he saw four men assembled around a huge oak table.
Mouton was among them, as well as another man Rhys had run across in France. The others were strangers. D’Eglantine glanced around. His gaze lingered on the roaring fire, a detail Rhys found odd since it was rather warm outside.
Finally, the Frenchman turned to Rhys and spoke. “I’ve promised you a role in our next move to weaken the English crown.”
Rhys nodded while in his mind he mapped out the territory around the cabin, considering all potential avenues for escape.
“Before I give you more information, you must undergo a little test.” Rhys raised his brow as if d’Eglantine were boring him by dragging out what needed to be done.
D’Eglantine looked at one of the men standing by the fire. “Show him.” The man rolled up his sleeve, revealing his inner forearm.
Rhys barely managed a neutral face as he observed the puckered flesh where the man had been branded with the symbol of Les Centimes, a bird of prey holding a bag of coins in its beak.
“We require all of our members to bear our mark.” D’Eglantine slipped off the enormous ring he wore on his right hand and gave it to the man who’d displayed his scar.
“Heat that up.”
Rhys knew he must comply. If he refused, they would kill him for his disobedience.
Of course, if he went along with the plan, he might have a difficult time convincing the authorities he truly worked for the English crown. He resigned himself to the sacrifice.
This wasn’t the first time he’d risked his life to stop such men from destroying something he believed in.
D’Eglantine faced Rhys again. “I’m afraid we’ll have to restrain you. You never can tell what someone’s reaction to pain will be. We can’t chance you pulling away and ruining the imprint.” He pointed to a chair. “Have a seat.” Rhys thought of Amanda as he settled into the chair. What would she think of him for allowing this? Would she think him an idiot for agreeing to help Farrington? He’d certainly thought it many times over. But he was committed now. He would surrender himself to d’Eglantine’s mercy and pray that the ends would justify the means.
D’Eglantine signaled to one of the men Rhys didn’t know. The man picked up a coil of rope from the floor and used it to bind Rhys’s ankles. The bonds were so tight Rhys knew his feet would be numb in minutes. Rhys removed his shirt at their request, and they tied his left wrist to the arm of the chair. His right arm was secured above his elbow and at the wrist.
Throughout the process, he tried not to imagine the pain that would come. He ignored the words spoken around him and the sickening smiles of the men who worked to restrain him. A normal man would be terrified, but his body was numb.
The man who’d been heating the ring used metal tongs to pull it from the fire and inspect it. It glowed white, and the sight brought Rhys back to reality. He looked at d’Eglantine. “Are we ready?”
D’Eglantine smiled. “I rather think we should discuss our plan before I mark you.
Afterwards, you will be in poor condition to comprehend your instructions.
Rhys nodded. “As you say.”
“Our next move will be a direct attack on the Prince Regent.” Rhys said nothing, hoping his silence would encourage d’Eglantine to give more details. So far he’d received only teasing hints at what they intended to do.
“Perhaps you are aware Lord Barton is giving a party this evening, one for men with, shall we say, discriminating tastes.”
Rhys nodded. It was the very party he’d discussed with Langley.
“I would like you to attend. There will be several men present who regularly take their seat in the Lords. I assume you will know who they are.” Rhys nodded again.
“Your purpose is to ascertain whether any of them might secretly think as we do. We require someone to cause a distraction when the Lords convene on Wednesday, one which will keep several of the regent’s cronies from joining him for their usual afternoon ride.”
If his hands had not been tied, Rhys might have slapped the smug look off d’Eglantine’s face. “That is simple enough to accomplish.”
“Excellent. We will discuss your other duties after you complete this initial task.” Rhys wanted to ask questions, to secure the last of the details he would need to inform Farrington and put a team in place to stop them. But he couldn’t arouse suspicion.
“We’re ready.” D’Eglantine looked at the man who held the glowing ring between a pair of tongs.
Firm hands clamped Rhys’s shoulders. Rhys braced himself, tensing his muscles and fighting to keep still. He closed his eyes and held a picture of Amanda in his mind, concentrating on his need to get back to London and protect her.
He felt the heat. The ring seemed to hover over his arm for an eternity. D’Eglantine must love drawing this out. Rhys would have no remorse about killing the Frenchman if it came to that.
Without warning his whole world filled with white-hot light. The most piercing, consuming pain Rhys had ever felt washed over him. He fought to stay conscious, but blackness washed out the heat, and he went under.
He woke when someone splashed ice-cold water in his face. He had no idea how long he’d been out. His bonds had been removed, and his arm was bandaged. His arm felt
curiously numb, and he was weak and cold. He knew the pain would return, but he was thankful for the reprieve.
“In a few moments, we’ll be returning to London. You will need time to rest if you are to fulfill your duties this evening.”
D’Eglantine’s voice barely penetrated Rhys’s cloudy mind, but he managed to nod.
Rhys forced himself to keep his tired eyes open and listen when Mouton moved to d’Eglantine’s side and whispered something to the man.
D’Eglantine smiled. “Before we let you go, we have one further request of you. After our plan goes through, we will be in the mood for celebration. My friend,” he gestured toward Mouton, “has been grievously wronged by your new wife. We expect you to bring her to our victory celebration so we all can enjoy her.” Rhys’s stomach knotted, but he refused to give d’Eglantine the reaction he wanted.
The more emotion he showed, the more he would arouse the man’s suspicions that his and Amanda’s marriage was a love match rather than a forced alliance. He swallowed his anger and prayed he could speak without his voice shaking. “That may not be possible.
She had gone to visit a relative in the country.” D’Eglantine lifted a brow. “So soon after the wedding? You must be a disappointing groom indeed. But no matter where she has gone, it is your duty to retrieve her.” Rhys made one more effort to refuse them. “Truly it is she who is disappointing. I am afraid you would find her a dull bedmate.”
“Fear and pain will no doubt sharpen her,” d’Eglantine said. “My friend has waited long for his revenge, and I must admit I’m eager to see how she will look after being properly humbled by us. You may, of course, join us. Perhaps you might learn a thing or two.”
“How generous of you.” None of them would ever touch Amanda. Hopefully they would all be dead or in the hands of British authorities before their plan went into action.
If not, he would kill them all himself.
His stomach churned as the pain in his arm returned. He had to get some fresh air. “I need to take a piss before we leave.”
The man who’d branded him stood and looked toward d’Eglantine. “Shall I follow him?”
“If he’s stupid enough to run, he won’t get far with his arm like that.”
“I assure you, I will return in a moment.” Rhys forced himself to stand straight and walk as if he felt nothing. When he was a safe distance from the cabin, he leaned against a tree and took a few breaths of cool evening air.
His arm throbbed from his shoulder to his fingers. It hurt more than even the multiple gunshots he’d received in France. And all he could see in his mind was d’Eglantine and his men raping Amanda, forcing him to watch. His stomach couldn’t take it. He fell to his knees and vomited.
*
Amanda paced her room at her aunt’s house. She’d gone to her family when Rhys had not returned after three days. She doubted her aunt believed any of the lies she’d invented, but Lady Morgan had been kind enough to not to push Amanda to confess the truth.
The hall clock struck midnight, but Amanda knew she couldn’t sleep. If she lay down, she would only toss and turn, alternating between blinding anger and sick fear. She decided to make an attempt to occupy her mind with a gothic romance her sister had recommended. She’d just settled onto her chaise, book in hand, when she heard a scratching sound outside.
She leapt up and crossed the room. From behind the curtain, she peered across the balcony. A man swung over the edge and landed silently. It was too dark for her to see his features, but it never occurred to her to be frightened. She was certain it was Rhys using this unconventional entry so as not to wake the house.
She unlatched her window and flung it open.
A face appeared before her.
It wasn’t Rhys.
She tried to scream, but in one swift motion, the man leapt through the window, spun her until her back was pressed to his chest, and clamped his hand over her mouth.
She tried to tear his hand away from her face as she kicked his shins.
His arms wrapped tighter, nearly cutting off her air.
“Calm down. I’m here as a friend.”
His voice was quiet and soothing, but she refused to listen to a single syllable.
“Stanton works for me. He’s missing, and I need your help.” She froze, her heart thundering against her chest. Dare she believe this man?
“If I remove my hand, will you promise not to scream?” This man could easily be playing with her. If Rhys were really in trouble, he could be the very one responsible. But some unknown instinct told her to trust this man. She nodded vigorously against his hand.
He released her.
She faced him as he pulled off his hat to reveal fine blond hair. She recognized him immediately. He was the man Rhys had been talking to the night she’d approached him at his uncle’s ball. Of course that did not guarantee he was Rhys’s friend.
Her chest tightened. She could hardly breathe. If she believed this man was who he said he was, then she had to accept that Rhys was in trouble. But if this man was an enemy, then she was in great danger herself.
“Have you heard from Stanton in the last three days?” She shook her head.
“Neither have I. He should have checked in with me, and he has not responded to any of my missives. Do you have any idea where he is?” Again she shook her head.
“I’m going to take something out of my coat pocket, something I hope will reassure you.”
She tensed. If he extracted a weapon, she could be dead in seconds. But when he pulled out his hand, he held a cravat pin identical to the one Rhys wore on formal occasions.
“This pin is a symbol of our organization. You are wise to be wary of me, but if we are to help Stanton, I need your cooperation.” He held the pin in his open palm. Amanda reached out and took it from him. She examined it. “How do I know you didn’t simply take this from Rhys?”
“Turn it over. The back is engraved.”
Amanda did as he asked. The initials S. H. F. were visible on the back.
The man held out his hand. “Sebastian Hanover, Lord Farrington, at your service.” She looked up and met the man’s gaze for the first time. Concern and pain were reflected there, and she decided to give him her trust.
She took his hand. “Amanda Stanton, but I suppose you already knew that.” He nodded. A wave of intense fear swept her. What if Rhys was already beyond help? What if he was dead, and she’d never told him she loved him? “Do you think Rhys is…still alive?”
Farrington frowned. “I wish I could say yes, but I truly don’t know. I can only assume he is in the company of the men we are looking for. Our best hope is that he has joined them willingly and is unable to communicate with us.”
“Why would he join them willingly?”
Farrington’s eyes narrowed. “How much has he told you?”
“More than he wanted to.” Farrington smiled as she continued. “We encountered two of the men he is seeking at the Winstons’ ball several nights ago.”
“He sent me a brief note which hinted at such, that was the last time I heard from him. What can you tell me about them?”
Amanda filled Farrington in on the things she and Rhys had overheard at the ball.
Farrington took it all in without comment. “There is a party tonight, one Stanton intended to attend. You and I will go and see what we can learn about his condition.
Perhaps there will be someone there you recognize.” Something in his tone made Amanda suspicious. “What kind of party?” Farrington flashed an alluring smile. This man could charm the devil. Was she a fool to listen to him? “Not a respectable one, I’m afraid. I’m sure it will be quite enlightening
for you. If he turns up, Rhys will certainly call me out for bringing you, but at least we will know he’s alive. If he isn’t there, we need to learn why.”
“Why are you involving me in this?”
“Because you’re the only one of our people who will recognize the men Stanton has been looking for.”