Page 38 of The Wayward Duke
Guilt twisted in Julian’s chest. If he’d deciphered the warning faster, lives could have been saved. He thought again of Caroline bandaging bleeding strangers heedless of her own torn flesh. Ice slithered down his spine.
The penned words swam before his eyes, full of vindictive satisfaction at the destruction caused, the gloating pleasure in outsmarting them once more. Julian’s fingers curled, crinkling the paper.
“I see,” he said. “So his letters are pure malice now.”
“Without a doubt. Which is why I summoned you.” He tapped the still-unread second cryptogram between them. “Another threat encoded, no question. Solve it quickly, duke. Time is imperative.”
Julian lifted his gaze from the letter, anger and frustration simmering beneath his skin. “Just speak plainly.”
Wentworth drew a breath. “Very well. That explosion was intended to detonate when the streets were choked with carriages leaving the theatre.” His eyes glinted like steel. “Had it gone off as planned, we’d have been scraping half theton’s corpses off the cobblestones.”
Julian’s gut churned. “Your flair for vivid description is unmatched.”
“Not a pretty picture, no. But an accurate one.” Wentworth’s fingers tapped out an agitated rhythm on his armrest. “The bomb was placed beneath Worthington’s carriage. The earl died in the blast, but the timing suggests the goal was to inflict as much carnage as possible in the aftermath.”
“You’ve looked into Worthington?” Julian asked. “Asked if he had enemies?”
“His wife couldn’t point to a single person who wanted him dead, and there’s nothing connecting him with the tragedies involving Stradbroke and Lord Baresford. They moved in different circles. You said your wife has an eye for patterns and helped you before. Use her again if you must, but solve it swiftly.”
Julian glanced up. “Last night changed things. I won’t put Caroline in danger.”
Wentworth’s expression went cold. “I’m not asking. And I suspect if I approached her directly, she wouldn’t appreciate you making that choice for her.” He arched a brow. “From what I saw, your duchess barks orders like a general. Doubt she’d welcome being wrapped in cotton wool now.”
Julian considered that for a moment before conceding reluctantly, “No, she wouldn’t.” Caroline would be furious if she learned he’d denied her the chance to stop a killer. He picked up the intricate new code, turning it over in his hands. “I’ll tell her she has the option to help,” he said, scanning both letters.
“The sooner, the better, if you please.” Wentworth made to stand.
“Wait.” Julian’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinised the cryptogram more closely. A niggling sense of familiarity teased him, though the specifics hovered just out of reach.
Wentworth paused. “Do you recognise something?”
Julian’s gaze remained fixed on the letter as he mentally sifted through everything in the mocking phrases. The subtle revelation continued to elude him, as slippery as smoke. “I need to study it further before I can pin down precisely why. But this brand of smugness rings familiar.”
“Keep studying it until you can grasp the elusive memory. Let me know what you find. And give my message to your duchess.”
Then Wentworth turned on his heel and strode for the exit. The cryptogram seemed to scorch Julian’s fingers.
He could almost see the blood that would spill if he failed.
15
Caroline awoke to the lingering scent of cedar and soap that clung to the sheets.
Julian’s scent.
A breeze sighed against the window, and she shivered, burrowing back into the safety of the blankets. As sleep’s grip receded, her mind pieced together fractured memories of the previous night. Strong arms around her. Gentle hands tending to her wounds. The glide of the sponge down her spine.
She reached across the mattress, seeking the solid warmth of his body. But her fingers met only cool sheets. Caroline’s eyes dragged open. The pillow beside her lay empty, the indent of his head still visible on the plush down.
He was gone.
Again.
Sitting up sent a bolt of pain down her side where she’d struck the hard cobblestones. Her ribs throbbed in time with her heart as she took stock of her aching muscles. But Julian’s diligent care had left the scrapes on her hands and knees cleaned as well as any doctor.
She flexed her fingers gingerly, remembering the tender meticulousness with which he’d bathed each small abrasion. The way those hands had cradled hers.
She could almost feel the heat of his palms sweeping down her skin.
