Because of the late hour, Flannaghan didn’t open the door to see who was there. He peeked out the side window first, recognized his employer’s friend, and then unbolted the latch.
Morgan Atkins rushed inside. Before Flannaghan could explain that both Colin and Alesandra had already retired for the night, Morgan said, “I know it’s late, but this is an emergency and I’ve got to see Colin right away. Sir Richards will be here in a few minutes.”
“But milord has already gone to bed,” Flannaghan stammered out.
“Wake him,” Morgan snapped. He softened his voice when he added, “We have a crisis on our hands. He’ll want to know what has happened. Be quick about it, man. Richards will be here any moment now.”
Flannaghan didn’t argue with the earl. He immediately turned to run up the steps. Morgan followed him. Flannaghan assumed the earl wished to wait in the study. He half turned to ask him to take a seat in the salon.
A blinding light exploded inside his head. The pain was so intense, so consuming, it overwhelmed him. There wasn’t time to shout a warning, or enough strength to fight. Flannaghan was whirled into darkness the second the blow was delivered to the back of his head.
He fell backward. Morgan grasped him under his arms so the unconscious man wouldn’t make any noise falling down the steps, then propped him against the banister.
He stood there staring down at the butler a long minute to make certain he hadn’t just stunned him, then, satisfied he wouldn’t wake up anytime soon, he turned his attention to the more important task at hand.
He crept up the stairs. In one pocket was the dagger he planned to use on Alesandra. In the other pocket was the pistol he would use to kill Colin.
His eagerness didn’t make him less cautious. He’d replayed his plan over and over again inside his mind to make certain there weren’t any flaws.
He was glad now he hadn’t given in to his urge and killed her sooner. He’d wanted to . . . oh, yes, he’d wanted to, but he hadn’t given in to the urge. Why, he’d even taken out the contract with Morton and Sons, naming Colin as beneficiary of course, so that the husband would be the only one who stood to gain from her death. Oh, yes, he’d been clever about what he was going to do. The princess had intrigued him from the moment he’d met her. Would there be a stronger rush killing royalty?
He smiled in anticipation. In just a few minutes he would have his answer.
He knew which bedroom belonged to Alesandra. He’d found out that interesting fact when he’d called on Colin that first time. He’d met Alesandra in the hallway outside the library, heard her mention she needed to get something from her room, and then watched her hurry down the hallway, past the first doorway and through the second. Oh, he was the clever one, all right. He’d filed that information away for possible future use and now it was going to give him the edge he needed.
He wanted to kill Alesandra first. There was surely a connecting door between the two bedrooms, and if not, then the hallway door would serve him just as well. He wanted to make Alesandra scream with her terror and her pain and watch as Colin rushed into the bedroom to save his beloved wife. Morgan would wait until Colin had taken it all in, had seen the blood pouring from Alesandra’s body, and once he’d feasted on the horror and the helplessness in Colin’s eyes, then he would kill him with one shot through his heart.
Colin deserved to die a slow, agonizing death, but Morgan didn’t dare take such a chance. Colin was a dangerous man, and for that reason alone he would kill him quickly.
Still, the look on his face when he realized his wife was dying would be treasured in Morgan’s mind a long, long while. And that would have to be enough, he decided as he slowly made his way down the dark hallway.
He passed the study, then the door to the first chamber, as silent as a cat now, barely breathing at all until he reached the door he’d watched Alesandra open.
He was ready now, composed . . . invincible! And still he waited, more to tease himself with the anticipation of the reward soon to be his than anything else. He listened to the silence for long minutes . . . waiting . . . letting the fever catch hold of him, burn him, strengthen him.
They both deserved to die—Alesandra because she was a woman, of course, and Colin because he had ruined his chances for success with the War Department. Richards didn’t trust him anymore, and it was Colin’s fault he hadn’t succeeded. If Colin had gone along with him on the assignment, he wouldn’t have given in to the fever raging inside him when he’d spotted the Frenchman’s sister. He wouldn’t have thought about how smooth her skin had looked or noticed the innocent vulnerability in her eyes. He would have been able to control the need to touch her with his blade in his hands. . . . But Colin hadn’t gone with him, and luck hadn’t been on his side that time. The brother returned from town earlier than scheduled and had come upon him while he was sliding his blade in and out, in and out, in his own mating ritual that gave him such a rush of pleasure. The screams had alerted the man—those necessary, thrilling screams that fed his passion—and if Colin had been there both the sister and her brother would still be alive. He would have been able to control himself—yes, yes, he would have—and, oh, God, she’d been so sweet. . . .
Her body had felt like butter against his steel erection, and he knew Alesandra’s body would feel just as soft. Her blood would be hot and sticky as it spurted over his hands, as hot and sticky . . .
He didn’t dare wait any longer. After Richards told him Colin and he had both come to the conclusion he wasn’t suited for their line of work, Morgan had pretended disappointment. Inside he raged with fury. How dare they think him inferior? How dare they?
He’d made up his mind then and there to kill both of them. He’d been so terribly clever with his plans, too. Colin and Richards would both die in tragic accidents, of course, but the plans changed today when he’d taken Colin’s sister riding in the park and she’d told him Alesandra had tried to talk her out of going.
The stupid chit told her every thought. Morgan knew then that they were becoming suspicious of him. There wasn’t a shred of proof to link him to any of the women . . . was there? No, no, it was wrong of him to think of himself as vulnerable. He was far too cunning to ever give in to self-doubt.
He had immediately changed his plans, however. He’d worked every detail out. He would kill Alesandra for the sheer pleasure involved, then kill Colin, and on his way out he would make certain the butler never awakened.
No one was going to be able to point the finger at him. He had the perfect alibi. He was spending the night with the bitch Lorraine, and she would tell anyone who asked that he had never left her bed. He’d given her a large dose of laudanum mixed in with her drink and slipped out the back window of the whore’s cottage. When she awakened from her drug-induced sleep, he would be back by her side.
Oh, yes, he’d thought of everything. He allowed himself to smile with satisfaction. He pulled the dagger out of his pocket and then reached for the doorknob.
Colin heard the squeak of the door as it opened. He was already awake and was just about to get out of bed to walk off the throbbing cramping in his leg when the muffled sound gained his attention.
He didn’t waste any time waiting to hear any more noises. His instincts were screaming a warning. Someone was inside Alesandra’s bedroom now and he knew it wasn’t any of his staff. His servants wouldn’t dare enter either bedroom without begging entrance first.
Colin moved with the speed of lightning, yet didn’t make a sound. He removed the loaded pistol he kept in the drawer of the nightstand, then turned back to his wife. He clamped one hand over her mouth and dragged her across the bed. His gaze and his pistol stayed centered on the connecting door.
Alesandra came awake with a start. The moonlight filtering through the windows was bright enough for her to see the look on her husband’s face. His expression was terrifying. Her mind instantly cleared. Something was terribly wrong. Colin finally removed his hand from her mouth and motione
d for her to go across the room. He never looked directly at her. His attention continued to be focused on the door to her chamber.
She tried to walk in front of him. He wouldn’t let her. He grabbed hold of her arm and gently pushed her behind him. He followed her across the bedroom, his back to her all the while, then pushed her into the narrow corner between the wall and the heavy wardrobe. He stood in front of her, protecting her from direct attack.
She didn’t have any idea how long they stood there. It seemed an eternity to her and yet she guessed only a few minutes actually had passed.
And then the door slowly opened. A shadow spilled across the carpet. A blur followed. The intruder didn’t creep into the chamber but ran with a demon’s speed and determination.
The low, guttural cry he made sent chills down Alesandra’s spine. She squeezed her eyes shut and began to pray.
Morgan held a knife high above his head in one hand and a pistol in his other hand. Because he’d run into the room he’d almost reached the side of the bed before his mind registered the fact that it was empty. The sound he was making, that god-awful mewing, inhuman sound he couldn’t seem to control, suddenly turned into an outraged roar very like that of an animal being denied its prey. Morgan knew, even before he started to turn, that Colin was there, waiting for him. He knew without a doubt he had only a second at best to save himself, but he was so very clever, so superior . . . he was certain the second was all he needed.
He was, after all, invincible. In one fluid motion he whirled, his pistol at the ready, his finger caressing the spring . . .
His death was instantaneous. The shot from Colin’s pistol entered Morgan’s head through his left temple. He collapsed to the floor, his eyes wide open, his weapons still clutched in his hands.
“Don’t move, Alesandra.”
Colin’s command was harsh, clipped. She nodded, then realized his back faced her and he couldn’t see her agreement. Her hands started aching. She had been clutching them tight against her bosom. She forced herself to relax.
“Be careful,” she whispered in a voice so low she doubted Colin could hear her.
He walked over to the body, kicked the pistol out of Morgan’s hand, then knelt down on one knee to make certain he was dead.
He let out a long sigh. His heart was pounding a furious beat. “Bastard,” he muttered as he stood up. He turned back to Alesandra and reached out his hand to her. She scooted out of the corner, her gaze locked on Morgan Atkins, and slowly walked over to her husband. Colin pulled her into his arms, blocking her view.
“Don’t look at him,” he ordered.
“Is he dead?”
“Yes.”
“Did you mean to kill him?”
“Hell, yes.”
She leaned into his side. Colin could feel her trembling. “It’s over now, sweetheart. He can’t hurt anyone else.”
“You’re sure he’s dead?” Her voice shivered with worry.
“I’m sure,” he answered, his voice still harsh with anger.
“Why do you sound so angry?”
Colin took a deep, cleansing breath before he answered her. “It’s just a reaction,” he said. “The bastard had some grand plans, Alesandra. If you had been sleeping in your chamber . . .”
He couldn’t go on. The thought of what could have happened to her was too terrifying for him to think about.
Alesandra took hold of her husband’s hand and led him over to the bed. She gently pushed against his shoulders so he would sit down. “But nothing happened to me because of your instincts. You heard him in the other room, didn’t you?”
Her voice was a soothing whisper. Colin had to shake his head. His wife was actually comforting him . . . and, damn it all, he actually needed it.
“Put your robe on, sweetheart,” he told her. “I don’t want you to get chilled. Are you all right?”
He pulled her onto his lap when he asked her that question. “Yes,” she answered. “Are you all right?”
“Alesandra, if anything ever happened to you, I don’t know what in God’s name I would do. I can’t imagine life without you.”
“I love you, too, Colin.”
Her declaration soothed him. He grunted his pleasure while he lifted her off his lap to sit on the bed beside him.
He took another deep breath, then stood up. “I’m going to wake Flannaghan and send him over to Richards. Sit here until . . .”
He quit his order when she bounded to her feet. “I’m going with you. I don’t want to stay here with . . . him.”
“All right, love.” He draped his arm around her shoulders and started for the door.
She was shivering again. Colin didn’t want the fear to catch hold of her again.
“Didn’t you say you thought Morgan was a real charmer?”
She let out a gasp. “I certainly did not say such a thing. Catherine thought he was charming. I never thought so.”
Colin didn’t contradict her. He didn’t think now was the time to remind her she’d added Morgan’s name to her list of marriage candidates. She’d just get more upset.
He’d made the remark to take her attention away from the dead man they had to walk around to get out of the room. The ploy worked. Alesandra barely spared Morgan a glance. She was fully occupied frowning up at her husband. The color had come back into her face, too.
“I was suspicious of Morgan from the moment I met him,” she announced. “Well, almost from the moment I met him,” she added when Colin looked incredulous.
He didn’t argue with her. They reached the hallway before he realized he wasn’t wearing any clothes. He went back inside, put on a pair of pants, then pulled a cover off the top of the wardrobe and tossed it over Morgan. He didn’t want Alesandra to see the bastard’s face again. He didn’t particularly want to look at him either.
Flannaghan wasn’t in his room. They found him sprawled out on the steps near the foyer. Alesandra was far more upset over her butler’s condition than she had been over Morgan’s demise. She burst into tears and clung to Flannaghan’s hand until Colin convinced her that the servant had just been knocked into a deep sleep. When Flannaghan let out a low groan, she was able to gain control of herself.
An hour later the town house was filled with visitors. Colin had flagged down a passing hack and sent the driver to fetch Sir Richards, Caine, and Nathan. The three men arrived a scant five minutes apart.
Richards questioned Flannaghan first, then sent him up to bed. Alesandra sat on the settee, flanked by Nathan on one side and Caine on the other. The two men were competing with one another in their bid to comfort her. She thought their concern was terribly sweet and therefore put up with Nathan’s awkward, stinging pats and Caine’s sporadic words of sympathy that didn’t make much sense.
Colin walked into the salon and had to shake his head in vexation when he saw the trio. He could barely find his wife. Caine and Nathan had literally pinned her to the settee with their wide shoulders.
“Nathan, my wife can’t breathe. Move. You, too, Caine.”
“We’re comforting her in her time of need,” Caine announced.
“Damn right we are,” Nathan agreed.
“It must have been quite a fright for you, Princess.”
Sir Richards made that evaluation from the doorway. He hurried across the room and sat down in the chair across from her.
The director was barely put together. He’d obviously been in bed when the summons came, for his hair stood on end and his shirt was only partially tucked into his pants. His shoes didn’t match, either. They were both black, but only one had the Wellington tassel. The other was bare.
“Of course it was a fright,” Caine announced.
Nathan patted her on her knee again in a bid to soothe her. Alesandra looked at Colin. The sparkle in her eyes told him she was close to laughing. He thought she might be smiling, but couldn’t tell, for the lower part of her face was hidden behind Caine’s and Nathan’s shoulders.
“Get up,
Nathan. I want to sit next to my wife.”
Nathan gave her one last whack before he moved to another chair. Colin immediately sat down and hauled her close to his side.
“How did you kill him?” Nathan asked then.
Caine motioned to Alesandra and shook his head at his brother-in-law. She missed that action. Since no one else seemed inclined to answer Nathan, she decided to. “One clean shot, directly through the left temple,” she said.
“Colin has always been extremely accurate,” Sir Richards praised.
“Were you surprised it was Morgan, Sir Richards?” she asked.
The director nodded. “I never would have thought he was capable of such foulness. Lord, I put him to work for my department. The way he bungled the one assignment he was given told me he didn’t have the instincts. A sister and brother were killed because of his ineptness.”
“Maybe it wasn’t ineptness at all,” Colin said. “Richards, you told me the sister accidentally got in the way. Now I’m wondering if Morgan deliberately killed her. He did file the report, didn’t he?”
Richards leaned forward. “I’ll ferret out the truth,” he announced. “By God I will. What set him off tonight I wonder? Why did he suddenly come out in the open to get Alesandra. He lured the other women to a secluded spot, but came here to get her. Perhaps he’d just become bolder,” he added.
“Catherine is probably the reason he took the risk,” Caine interjected. “She must have told Morgan that Alesandra tried to stop her from going riding with him. Catherine does like to tell everything she knows. Perhaps Morgan jumped to the conclusion we were suspicious of him.”
Nathan shook his head. “The bastard was demented.” Colin agreed with that assessment. “The sounds he made when he came running into the bedroom makes me think he was out of his mind.”
“He’d taken a real liking to it.”
Caine made that statement in an emphatic tone of voice. Alesandra was appalled at the very idea that anyone could gain pleasure from another person’s pain.