Page 10 of His Wicked Embrace
“Did this talkative fellow give us aname?”
Cady shook hishead.
“Which man was it?” Avery demanded. He headed toward the prisoners. Cady shadowed behindhim.
“Bloke on the left, the youngone.”
Avery grabbed the man, who seemed close to Avery’s age, and snarled into hisface.
“Who took the first woman? Give me aname!”
The young man gasped as his chair was pushed back to balance on two legs. “I—I don’t know, but I got a good look at him! I swear!” With his hands bound behind him, he would have a nasty fall if the chair toppled over, which was exactly what Avery wanted him to fear. A threat of violence could be more effective than actually using it. A man’s imagination was his own worstenemy.
“What did he look like?” Averygrowled.
“He looked like you!” The man screeched as his chair teetered on its backlegs.
Avery froze. “What?”
“He looked like you,” the man repeated. “Not exactly, mind. His hair was a darker red, but the face…very similar.” The man stared at him, but Avery was no longer paying attention. He let the chair fall back on all fourlegs.
Lawrence. What the bloody hell had his older brother done? He had been sent to gather information about the auction, notparticipate!
“What is it?” Cady asked, flexing his hands into fists. “Do you know who he’s on about?” Cady was a good man, but his brutish build and height made him a damned scary sight whenangered.
Avery shook his head. If his brother had bought a slave, there had to be a damned good reason. Had Lawrence thought he could play the hero, imagining himself rescuing the poorwoman?
The problem was, a magistrate would not see it that way. Buying a woman like this was enough to condemn any man. Thankfully, Avery had spent years as a spy for king and country. He was used to controlling his reactions and finding ways out of impossible situations. He turned toCady.
“Leave this to me. I’ll find out who the man is, and when I do, there will be justice,” he vowed. Cady nodded and returned to the other Runners, leaving Avery alone. Avery headed for the madam’s office, wanting to see what was left of the ledgers. He saw a small fireplace against the back wall opposite the desk. Three fat ledgers with marbleboard bindings were still smoldering on the hearth. Ashes littered the ground beneath the grate where the ledgers had beentossed.
Avery knelt down and carefully peeled back the pages. Most of it was illegible, and some pages crumbled even as he turned them, but he could just make out a few names andnumbers.
“No…” He whispered a curse as he pushed apart the last pages to see the names moreclearly.
“Lawrence Russell – One item – £7,000.”
Lawrence, what have you done? You damnedfool.
Pulling out a match from his inner pocket, he re-lit the fire and tore out the final page, casting it into the flames. There could be no evidence, no trace of his brother’sactions.
I will fix it. I will find the woman and protect my family’s name. No one need ever know aboutthis.
He turned and left the madam’s office. The magistrate was in charge of the scene now, and Avery could easily disappear into the darkness. He had reports to make. His superior, Sir Hugo Waverly, would need to be informed of the success of the breakup of the slave ring. With several influential Arab and Persian ambassadors in London for secret peace talks to stem the war between the Ottoman and the Qajar empires, it was crucial that this event never bediscovered.
Avery slipped out of the White House and called for his horse. He needed to get home and rest, but come morning, he would go to Lawrence’s home and demand answers. He would also have to take the poor woman to the port at once with the rest of the women and ship herhome.
He only hoped he could keep Lawrence from facing the law if his brother had done something so foolish as to truly buy a slave. He would be hard pressed to save his brother if that was thecase.
* * *
Zehra couldn’t washthe blood off her hands. The palace halls were filled with screams, and the night sky was illuminated with fire. Smoke crept along the corridors, prowling for victims. Bodies littered the bedroom andantechamber.
Zehra stared in shock at the two bodies closest to the bed. Her mother lay still, her golden hair spread across the silk sheets, her throat slashed. Blood pooled beneath her neck, and her sightless blue eyes looked through Zehra intooblivion.
A tall dark-haired man lay at her feet, his body still, a scimitar grasped in one hand. He had killed four men before being cutdown.
Papa…the word didn’t escape her lips, but it was followed inside her head by a piercing scream ofanguish.
