Morgan had barely made it through the door when he was confronted by his butler. The trip to and from the country had taken longer than he’d wished because apparently, Mr. Fenner had not felt as safe as his mother had implied. The solicitor had all but been imprisoned at the dowager house and though every meal had been provided for him and he lived in luxury, he’d not been allowed to leave the house for more than a year. His mother had threatened him and had also told him that she’d been the one to arrange his stabbing and hide him away… and that she wasn’t afraid to finish the job completely.
This had made him hysterical.
Taking a peaceful witness would have been hard enough, considering the enemy would make a body vanish into thin air, but taking in a hostile one that they needed to cooperate was even tougher. Besides the solicitor’s tries to run away on more than one occasion on the way to London, Warren and Morgan had been forced to let the man roam outside freely in order to gain some measure of trust.
The man had wept when his hands touched fresh soil and grass.
It was safe to say he was glad to be back.
He wondered now what he would do about his mother. She had arranged for a man’s stabbing. Surely, he couldn’t let her get away with it.
It was a matter for another time.
“Report,” Morgan told the man as he made his way to his office.
Horace spoke quickly. “The spies are out looking for the image of the man Nora created. Simon and Lucas have been working with Mr. Deacon to gain every bit of evidence that they can.” Warren had gone to the dowager house with Morgan to get Mr. Fenner. Warren was currently taking the frightened solicitor to the safehouse the men kept by the government offices.
Morgan sat down and looked at Horace. “What of Lady Philomena?”
“Apparently, she’s visiting Princess Victoria today.”
Morgan lifted a brow. “What? How? Why?”
“I don’t know,” Horace said. “But I received a note from Ralph a few hours ago.”
“Do Simon and Lucas know?”
“We’re not able to find them. As you know, they’re at Mr. Fenner’s location.”
Morgan understood. For years, they’d been working to get evidence on Creed and they’d risk everything to keep it. That meant that only the four members of the O.S.S. would know about Mr. Fenner’s location and no one else. Morgan and Warren would not find out where that location was until they met the other men later. Mr. Fenner could almost be hidden anywhere since no one would be looking for him because according to the world, he was dead.
Morgan looked at his desk and started moving mail around. “If Ralph is with her, then I’m sure I’ve nothing to fear.” Though that wasn’t completely true. He did fear that she never wanted to see him again, that in spite of everything, she would remain on Creed’s side. He imagined her believing she could save him. What loyalty.
He wanted her. He wanted all of her. Everything she had to give.
And he’d decided he would have her. No matter what happened where Creed was concerned, in the end, he would find a way to be with her. The last few days without her had left him tired and weary, but just the memory of her smile soothed him.
He wanted her smile, though he had a feeling there would be less of those in the coming days.
Creed was going to hang.
He noticed a folded sheet of paper and picked it up from the others.
“That’s Lady Nora’s drawing of the man Lady Philomena described.”
Morgan unfolded the page and stared at the handsome fellow who stared back at him. Nora’s painting was so lifelike that Morgan had no doubt that the man would be found soon. He was not a face one would easily forget. He stood out and Morgan saw in his eyes that he was a man unafraid of the world. Whether or not Nora had added that on her own or if Mena had told her to, he didn’t know.
He wondered at the man’s occupation and also noted he’d have made a fine member of a household. The wealthy usually chose footmen who were more attractive than most men, because footmen dealt with guests, but Morgan thought the man could be used better at another station in the house.
Perhaps a guard.
There was something in those eyes.
He stilled and then stood. He looked at the butler and said, “Neither Simon nor Lucas has seen this?”
The butler shook his head. “We’ve not seen them in days.”
“Marianne?” He hoped at least Marianne had seen the drawing.
His hope vanished.
The butler shook his head. “We’ve been keeping everything within the organization. We know how precious this case has become. We told her to not share it with anyone.”
Morgan cursed. “I know this man, Horace, and it's hard for me to believe that he is the one leading the stabbings.” He moved around the desk and started for the door. “Call for my carriage.”
“Who is the man?” Horace asked.
“Miles Miash.” Morgan went outside and shouted toward the house, fear lacing his blood. “Send word to Warren at the safehouse to meet me at Kensington Palace.”
Horace did as he was told and returned to Morgan just as the carriage came around.
“Who is Mr. Miash?” the butler asked.
Morgan spared him a glance as he climbed into the carriage. “Princess Victoria’s personal guard.”
* * *
31
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
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“There was no need for that.” …
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Mena tried to smile through her fear, but every once in a while, when Marianne would draw Victoria into conversation, Mena couldn’t help but gaze at Miles Miash. She’d recalled the name the moment she’d seen him and every time her eyes found him, she froze. Within minutes, those eyes had begun to narrow.
She didn’t know what to do or what to believe. Creed had told her this man was a criminal, yet he was Victoria’s personal guard. How could this be? Why would he do it?
Part of it made sense, she supposed. Like herself, Victoria had been foolish enough to trust someone she shouldn’t have, and it put her in danger.
Another laugh broke between the two friends and Mena looked at Miash again.
He moved toward her and she jumped, and tea fell into her lap. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She moved quickly to take a napkin and began to pat her dress.
Victoria made the suggestion that Mena excuse herself and Mena took the opportunity to do so, nearly bumping the table in her haste to flee the room.
“I’ll escort her,” Miash said.
Mena didn’t look up to meet his eyes and wanted to weep when Victoria told him it was a fine idea. She wanted to argue but knew better than to do so. She’d already made more than one mistake during tea. She moved toward the door quickly and prayed that Ralph would be on the other side.
When she stepped out, he was there, standing against the wall and she all but ran to him before turning to Mr. Miash. “My guard can take me from here.”