Page 47 of Bedding the Marquess
The man crossed the threshold. Every one of Gideon’s muscles tensed as his eyes flicked back and forth between them.
“Thisisinteresting,” the man said, his voice low and clear. “A close relation?” He directed the inquiry toward Oliver, butnodded without requiring an answer. “It makes more sense now.”
“What makes sense?” Oliver demanded.
“You know this man?” Gideon chimed in, feeling like the tension would suffocate him. “Who is he?” And what did he want? Why did his arrival so disconcert Oliver?
“Myformersupervisor,” he replied gruffly without removing his eyes from the visitor.
The man inclined his head as if he was either fully unaware of the unease in the room, or he cared not one bit about it. Likely the latter, given his unaffected mien.
For only a moment, the man’s lips twisted into the semblance of amusement before it dissipated. He reached into an inner pocket of his midnight-black coat and produced a folded letter. Gideon could see the black wax seal had already been broken. “This was dropped at Scotland Yard. No one can recall who left it, but it appeared within the last couple of hours.”
Oliver accepted it and began to read. His face blanched to a sickly white, but he read it a second time, his eyes flying over the words like a kingfisher on the surface of a lake.
“What is it?” Gideon’s voice was louder that time. He felt that if he did not receive some answers soon, then he might just go mad. Gideon did not miss the darkly disapproving look on the newcomer’s face as Oliver silently handed the letter over. He glanced at the seal, but it was unmarked, just a lumpy splatter of dark wax. The words inside were hastily scrawled and made his blood run cold and black dots to dance in his vision.
Two women were taken from Lady Night’s in Covent Garden. Their lives hinged upon a trade for the man known as Marcus Holden.
“What is this?” Gideon demanded as his heart pounded a deafening beat in his ears. It felt as if ice water had been pumpedinto his veins. “Two women were taken from the brothel? Who the hell is Marcus Holden?”
Stoically, the man produced a small, waxed paper envelope from his coat and handed it to Oliver. “This was placed inside the letter as well.” Oliver’s fingers trembled slightly as two locks of hair dropped into his palm, one white-blond and the other a shimmering rose gold.
“Dear God,” Gideon breathed, knowing in his soul now, seeing the undeniable proof, that their wives were the ones in danger. His knees nearly buckled, but his rage bolstered him. “Caro,” he croaked painfully. He ripped his eyes away from what lay in Oliver’s palm and faced the man in black. He charged him until they were nearly toe-to-toe. “Tell me now what is going on, or I swear to God I’ll—”
“I suggest you step back,” he interrupted icily, not so much as blinking at Gideon’s imposing voice and presence.
“Gideon,” Oliver said firmly. Though Gideon tried, he refused to be shaken off as he pulled him away from the other man.
Gideon whirled on his half brother, locating a new target for his terror and anger. “Tell me! I’ve a right to know—this is mypregnant wife!” Panic nearly choked him as its fingers curled ’round his throat. Still, he did not miss the weighty look that passed between Oliver and the man who’d delivered the horrific message. “Tell me,” Gideon snarled. He might just start swinging his fists if he didn’t receive answers soon.
Oliver looked at him, a shadow in his familiar eyes. “I am the one these men seek.”
“Why would they be after you?”
A small flicker of movement came from the man in black, a minute gesture of his hand to order silence from Oliver, but he did not comply. “Because,” Oliver answered, “they know I am Marcus Holden.”
“What do you mean?” Gideon’s confusion was only growing.
“I’ve suspected there has lately been someone watching me. I should have listened to my instincts instead of brushing it aside as paranoia from old habits. They must have seen me with Emily and decided to take her as a way to flush me out.”
The man in black nodded. “That would appear to be the situation. Too cowardly to approach you alone, so they devised a way to force you to surrender yourself.”
“But what does this have to do with Caro?” He looked from Oliver to the other man, his stomach roiling so powerfully, he feared he might become ill. “Do they want a ransom? I will pay whatever it takes to have her back safely.”
“She was likely collateral damage.” Oliver’s tone brimmed with regret.
“Or…she was seen with you and you were believed to be him,” offered the man, gesturing between the half brothers. “The resemblance is remarkable. Perhaps they were both taken, just to be certain they had at least one woman worth bartering for.”
Gideon turned on Oliver. “Why? Why the secret identity? Why would these men want you and take our wives as the means to have you?”
“Because I was a spy for the Crown.”
The ensuing silence was thick and heavy, as if a woolen blanket had been draped over the room.
Surely this was a jest—a game, a prank—anything to help explain the absurdity of the situation. Oliver was having a bit of revenge on him for all he’d suffered. Gideon was dreaming. His mind grasped frantically for logic but came up with nothing.
A bubble of incredulous chuckles escaped him. “You expect me to believe the women were taken because you used to be a spy and now your enemies are seeking revenge?” Gideon couldn’t stop his manic laughter as he turned in a circle and raked his fingers through his hair again and again.
