Page 40 of Taken to the Grave
“Not to worry,” she said, now thoroughly intrigued. It was obvious he wished to keep Michael in the dark about something.
“Give Sir Gabriel my regards,” the duke said. Audrey raised a brow as she peered at Hugh. Apparently, they were going to dinner at the chief magistrate’s home.
“Certainly. Good evening, Fournier.” Hugh held out his arm for her to take. She did and bid Michael a hasty goodbye as Hugh all but whirled her from the drawing room. At the front door, Greer met her with her pelisse. Though it was spring, the night air still held a chill.
“What is this all about?” Audrey asked as they started for Hugh’s carriage. The affable expression he’d worn in the drawing room had vanished. “I simply needed to tell you about the cuff links.”
“You can. On the way to Tavistock Street,” he said. “Yours isn’t the only urgent message I’ve received. Sir Gabriel has sent one.”
He handed Audrey up into the carriage, and then came in to sit across from her, latching the door behind him. As his driver turned out onto Curzon Street, Hugh’s grim expression struck her. Premonition sent her skin prickling, and after the vision she’d received earlier, Audrey was certain she knew why.
“A body was found today in the Thames,” Hugh said.
She shut her eyes. “No…”
“It is Bethany.”
A pang of anguish cut through her. And with it came the flood of chaotic images that had barreled into her when she’d finally removed her gloves and held Mr. Comstock’s cuff links: Travis Comstock in his bedchamber, face flushed, eyes red,undressing from full evening kit. Pushing back into the energy, Audrey had found Mr. Comstock in the confines of a coach, and through the window, the bright lamps lighting the Vauxhall coach field as they drove past were unmistakable. The same men from her previous vision, who had spoken to Mr. Givens on the street corner, sat across from Mr. Comstock, glaring at him, their mouths sealed. The menace they exuded had been palpable. When Audrey had pushed further, into grainier, weaker memories, the remaining gasps of the vision explained why.
Mr. Comstock was being dragged away from several black robed figures, all of them men, and all of them wearing elaborately grotesque masks. One mask, a red-painted devil face with a black snake’s tongue protruding from an open mouth, stood out amongst the others. The man wearing it had a head of curled jet hair touched by gray, and his robe had red piping while the others did not. They were all gathered in a room, much like a library, though the edges of the vision were beginning to close in. The men encircled a table, covered by some animal pelt, and in the gaps between the robed figures, Audrey could see the white linen of a lady’s shift, bare skin, and a woman’s arm, hanging limp off the edge of the table. Overhead, a bird cage, disproportionally large, hung suspended from ceiling beams. One final push, and Audrey had found herself swimming in pure shadow.
“Audrey?” Hugh’s voice dragged her back into the safety of the carriage. Her eyes were hot with tears. “Tell me,” he implored, sitting forward.
She did. She forced the words out, detailing everything she’d seen, and as she spoke, Hugh’s countenance darkened. He flexed his hands in and out of fists.
“The initiation was just as I feared,” he said once she’d concluded. He sat back and scrubbed his palm over his cheek.
As they turned down another street, the setting sun blazed through the window, blinding her. She turned her head away, eyes watering. “We were too slow.”
“Casting blame upon ourselves is not the answer.”
She knew he was right, but still felt a sense of utter failure. Hugh held his hat in his hands, his gloved fingers passing the brim around and around, absentmindedly. He glanced at her, his expression desolate. She felt leagues apart from him right then, and she despised it.
“We should speak about earlier,” she said after another few silent moments passed. “Before we arrive at Sir Gabriel’s.”
“I don’t want to argue.” He sounded exhausted. Humorless. It suited the situation, but not him.
“Neither do I.”
The carriage clattered on, turning them down streets toward their destination. Hugh spent the time staring out the window, brow pleated in deep thought.
Then, out of the silence, he said, “You are the right woman for me. You are theonlywoman for me.” He turned away from the window and hinged his piercing gaze on her. It pinned her to the seat and slowed her pulse. “I am not a man who loves by half measures. I won’t apologize for loving you intensely. For wanting to protect you.”
Her breathing commenced again, though it was rough. How was it that this man could sear her to the bone with a hungry gaze and a few words?
“You don’t need to apologize,” she managed to say. “I only ask that you don’t try to change me.”
“I would never do that.”
“By asking me to stand aside, you are.” She gathered her mettle. “I will stand beside you. Or I won’t stand with you at all.”
He nodded, then again faced the window. Silence again consumed the carriage. Hugh’s thoughts on her ultimatumremained locked behind his unyielding expression. When they arrived on Tavistock Street and were about to enter Sir Gabriel Poston’s home, Hugh laid his palm on the small of her back. Though he said nothing, the touch conveyed a desire for a truce. At least for the time being.
“Rebecca has gone to stay with Caro for the night,” the magistrate told them after they joined him in his study. He looked undone—his jacket and cravat had been discarded, his cuffs rolled up. His silver hair, usually slicked back, fell around his forehead in a disheveled fashion. He sipped from a snifter of whisky, and by his red cheeks and hazy eyes, it wasn’t his first drink.
“I should have started searching for her the moment Rebecca asked me to,” he said, his words somewhat slurred.
Hugh went to the decanter and poured another whisky. He took it to Sir Gabriel, who finished the one in his hand before taking the one Hugh extended to him.
