Page 78 of The Devil in Oxford
With a grunt he rolled off me, lying flat on his back in the wet snow, gulping in the acrid air. Reaver was as disoriented as I. The ringing in my ear blotted out everything else. I couldn’t think. Could scarcely hear over the sound inside my own head. The pain burned itself into my brain. Small pieces of debris from the sky fell like singed snowflakes making their way to the earth.
The small vessel had been reduced to little more than flames and flotsam floating atop the water. My chest seized up as I pulled myself to standing and stumbled a few steps toward the water. My legs unsteady beneath me. Had Leona and Ruan been on that boat?
Reaver snagged me again by the arm, jamming the metal of his gun back into my side, and pulled me into the woods. “Don’t think your tears move me, Miss Vaughn. I may have been fooled before, but I know precisely what you are.”
Thickness grew in my throat as I stared at the dark waters, scarcely registering his words. “What have you done?”
“Solved two problems at once,” he grumbled. “Come now, Miss Vaughn. I was told you were terribly clever. Solve this puzzle, mmm? I find you in the bloody lorry up to your elbows in cocaine and you ask me whatIhave done? I thought your concern for Leonatrue at first, but then I saw you with him. Cozied up with that murderous swine. Now…” He leaned closer, his hot breath at my neck smelling sweetly of peppermint. “Now I know better.”
Leona.I’d nearly forgotten his words from before. Reaver was also looking for Leona. That stray bubble of hope returned. Faint, but there all the same. If Reaver wanted to protect Leona, then she couldn’t have been on the boat he destroyed. She justcouldn’thave been. “Do you know where she is? I can help you, please. Please tell me that she’s safe.”
“You had better hope she is safe and whole, for your own sake,” Reaver muttered, jerking a coarse burlap sack over my head as my vision went dark. He tightened it around my throat, shutting off all light as he pulled me along beside him. With the loss of my sight, panic finally set in. I was well and truly caught. I stumbled, tripping on roots and debris, as Reaver led me at a breakneck pace away from the boat’s debris. My senses blunted. Disoriented. Despite being at a severe disadvantage—bound and unable to see, bleeding from goodness only knew where—I could not help but grasp onto the slightest glimmer of light in this dreadful situation. For Frederick Reaver wasnotthe villain. Oh, he was certainly a rotten scoundrel, but he hadn’t killed me yet. And more than that—he wasalsolooking for Leona, which meant that, as improbable as it seemed, Frederick Reaver and I were on the same side in all this. If only I could make him realize it.
Suddenly his words took on new meaning, striking a chord in my memory. Reaver said I’d “cozied up” with the killer. It must have been Amberley’s dinner party. My throat grew thick. Lord Amberley.Of course.How could I have been such a fool? Amberley had been there from the start. At the antiquarian meeting. Butting heads with Harker. At the museum the night Harker’s body was discovered. At the Ashmolean.
The final pieces clicked into place. That must have been why Reaver agreed to go to Amberley’s dinner party. Why he left themuseum so quickly after Amberley and his son arrived. Reaver had been after Lord Amberley all along.
The strong calloused hands that had painfully gripped my wrists were replaced by a rough rope. Twisting once, then again as he fastened my hands together. My palms grew slippery with my own blood. If only I could get him to understand, to listen toreason. Then perhaps we might stand a chance of saving her.
“I am on your side in this!” I tried again.
He responded, but I couldn’t make out his words between the whirring in my ear and the sack muting the sound. “I want to help Leona too. I’m not what you think I am!”
But no matter my protests, it was no use. Reaver wouldn’t listen. He continued to drag me along beside him to God only knew where. Occasionally a flicker of light would come through the loose weave of my sack. We must be going back to town. It was the only explanation for the brightness. Was he taking me to Amberley thinking he could make a trade for Leona’s life? Good God, it would get us all killed.
“You mean to bargain me, don’t you?” Panic began to rise within me. “I am on your side, Reaver. We want the same things!”
To that he let out a muffled curse and gave me another stout jerk. “Your lies do you no favors, Miss Vaughn.” I stumbled again, jamming my toe on a curbstone.
Yes. We were definitely back in Oxford.
My hands were nearly frozen from the cold air congealing my sticky blood. I flexed my fingers, unable to feel them. At least the hot moisture had stopped oozing from my ear—that, or I’d simply grown numb enough I couldn’t feel it. Suddenly, through my sack and over the ringing in my ear, I heard the muffled crack of a gunshot.
Reaver tensed before throwing me down on a step. I struck the stone hard, swearing loudly at the impact.
A great crash followed. Splintering wood from what must havebeen a door rained over my body. I flinched, waiting for a blow that did not come. Instead of striking me as I’d expected, Reaver hoisted me back up onto my feet and dragged me inside to meet my sorry fate.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVENThe Devil Meets His Match
ITwas a home. At least I thought that’s where Frederick Reaver had brought me. My senses were still muted from the blast—I could scarcely hear, let alone think straight. Had he brought me to Amberley’s home intent on trading me for Leona? If so, he was in for a sore disappointment once Lord Amberley arrived. My stomach lurched. Why would Reaver simply notlistento me?
The scent of leather and candle wax drifted through the loose weave as Reaver pulled me along the warm corridor. The sore muscles in my legs began to give way, and for the second time in as many minutes I was thrust onto my knees. Thick, soft carpet met the skin of my shins through the holes in my bloodied stockings. Reaver ripped the rough-hewn sack from my head. Tears streamed down my face from the sudden onslaught of light. The world inside was too bright, too loud. Reaver placed his meaty palm between my shoulder blades and shoved hard, sending me face-first onto the floor. My own hands were still bound behind my back and I twisted at the last moment, catching myself with my shoulder. A hot sharp pain shot through me.
“Blast and hell, you are going to get everyone killed—” I started before the words died away.
This wasn’t Lord Amberley’s drawing room.
I blinked slowly, taking in the room around me.
This wasn’t Lord Amberley’s home.
I was going to be sick. The dawning recognition of exactly where he’d brought me finally sank in. I had been here before. Sat on the fine antique sofa in the center of this room. Sought refuge here from the antiquarians’ dinner party just a handful of days before. Oh God… how could I have been so wrong?
My eyes slowly adjusted to the light as I beheld the walls lined with row after row of curio cabinets housing a lifetime of collecting antiquities.
The life’s work of Emmanuel Laurent.
Ruan’s mentor. Famed Antiquarian. Soon to be Member of Parliament. Emmanuel Laurent.
