Page 92 of Ravished

"Oh, rubbish. You already take excellent care of me."

She was wrong, Gideon thought as he watched her climb the stairs. He had not taken good care of her at all and today she had almost paid the price of his carelessness. One thing was certain. It was time to get rid of Morland once and for all.

Unless, of course, Harriet had already done so.

The early evening streets were crowded as Gideon made his way on foot to Mr. Humboldt's Museum.

Gideon had decided he could make his way more swiftly without the encumbrance of a horse or carriage, but there was another advantage to walking. On foot it was easier to lose himself amid the clutter of vehicles and people constantly moving about London.

The St. Justin horses were hardly inconspicuous. They were recognized by many, and Gideon did not want to call any attention to himself this evening. If he should happen to spot a familiar face, he could duck into one of the nearby alleys or lanes.

When he reached the street where Mr. Humboldt's Museum was located, Gideon waited in an alley until he could see no one around. Then he made his way to the front area that had been sunk into the ground to provide light for the underground story of the house. As was customary, there was an iron railing and a gate protecting the outside steps that led down from the street.

Gideon tried the gate and found it locked. He glanced around once more to be certain no one was in sight before he vaulted over the railing and dropped down onto the stone steps.

The steps, which were designed to serve as a servants' and tradesman's entrance, led down to a door which was also locked. Gideon tried to peer through the small windows which were supposed to afford light to the lower story of the house, but heavy drapes had been drawn across them.

Gideon was wondering if he was going to have to go to the trouble of breaking a window when he saw that someone had apparently forgotten to lock it.

He opened it and swung a leg over the sill. A second later he lowered himself into a shadowed room full of cabinets, crates, and bones. He quickly realized that this was not the chamber Harriet had told him about.

Gideon took down a candle from a wall sconce, lit it, and made his way out of the dusty room into a short dark hall. The door of the chamber at the end of the hall stood open.

As soon as Gideon stepped into the dark chamber he knew he was in the room where Harriet had been attacked. A cold fury burned in him as he checked each aisle of tall cabinets.She had been trapped in here by Morland. He had hunted her down as though she were a helpless doe and then he had attacked her. Only Harriet's own cleverness had saved her.

Gideon's hand clenched around the candle. He was very nearly as furious with himself as he was with Morland in that moment. He should have made certain Harriet had never been in this sort of danger. He had not fulfilled his duty as her husband. He had not taken proper care of her.

He found the aisle where Harriet had thrown the stone down on Morland. The chunk of rock lay on the floor. A section of it had broken off. Tallow dripped on the imprint of a strange spiny sea creature as Gideon knelt down to examine the site of Morland's defeat.

There were dark spots of dried blood on the floor. Gideon rose to his feet and did a quick survey of the rest of the chamber. There was no sign of Morland.

Gideon found a few more dark spots in the dust as he left the room and started back down the hall. He followed them straight back to the window where he, himself, had entered. When he held the candle up he could see a bloody fingerprint on the windowsill. Morland had climbed out of the house via this route. That explained why the window was unlocked.

So much for Harriet's fears that she had killed the bastard. He had obviously been spry enough to sneak out of the house after he picked himself up off the floor.

Gideon smiled coldly to himself as he snuffed the candle. He was just as glad Morland was not dead. He had other plans for him.

Twenty minutes later, Gideon walked up the steps of Morland's small townhouse and announced himself to the housekeeper who answered the door. She gawked at his scar as she wiped her hands on her apron.

"He's not at home to anyone," the woman muttered. "Told me so himself, not more'n half an hour ago. Right after he came home. Been in an accident, he has."

"Thank you." Gideon stepped forward into the hall, forcing the startled woman aside. "I shall announce myself."

"Now, look here, sir," the housekeeper grumbled, "I was given my orders. Mr. Morland ain't feelin' at all well just at the moment. He's restin' in the library."

"He'll be feeling a good deal worse when I've finished with him." Gideon opened the first door on the left and knew he had guessed correctly. He was in the library. There was no sign of his quarry until Morland spoke from the other side of a wing-back chair that faced the hearth.

"Get the hell out of here," Morland growled without looking around to see who had entered the room. "Goddammit, Mrs. Heath, I left orders I was not to be disturbed."

"But that is precisely what I intend to do, Morland," Gideon said very softly. "Disturb you. Greatly."

There was a stunned silence from the chair. Then Morland heaved himself out of it and spun around to confront Gideon. Brandy from the glass in his hand splashed on the carpet.

Morland no longer looked like an archangel. His carefully styled blond hair was in disarray. There was dried blood on his forehead and a feverish expression in his eyes. He set down the brandy glass with trembling fingers.

"St. Justin. What in the name of the devil are you doing here?"

"Do not trouble yourself to play the gracious host, Morland. I can see that you are not feeling at all well. By the bye, that is a rather nasty gash you sustained on your forehead." Gideon smiled. "I wonder if it will leave a scar."

---