Chapter Twenty-Seven
They encountered no trouble as they left the house via the garden. Then they continued along the mews until they were able to hail a cab to take them to Waring House.
Phin found his gaze continually sliding toward Eleanor to gauge the nuance of her expressions.
He knew that she was adept at concealing much of her feelings behind a stoic facade, but this morning, her subtle delight in their covert caper was evident.
Despite the shock of what had occurred in her garden last night—followed by what he could only hope had been a memorable experience in her bed—she appeared poised yet filled with a quiet anticipation.
It was fascinating to observe her pragmatic focus.
She was fascinating.
He was quite possibly head over heels for the woman.
No! Where the hell had that thought come from? Phin quickly stuffed it back into the farthest reaches of his mind.
The cab pulled up in front of his house. After paying the driver, Phin placed a light hand at Eleanor’s back and guided her into his home.
Waring House had been purchased by Phin’s father shortly after his marriage to his mother.
Intended as a family home, it had replaced the prior viscount’s bachelor residence.
When Phin inherited it upon his father’s death, Maggie had already been married and ensconced in her husband’s home years prior so it had housed only himself. And even that, rarely.
He maintained very minimal staff when he was in London, mainly consisting of Iago as butler and general manservant, Mrs. Conner as housekeeper, as well as a driver, two footmen, and two maids.
When he was not in residence, the staff was reduced to the housekeeper, maids, and footmen, simply to maintain the property.
Due to recent events, however, he’d had Iago hire on a half dozen additional menservants, each well-trained in security.
Even so, the house was quiet as they entered. With Iago undoubtedly occupied with their “guest” there was no one waiting to greet them. Phin helped Eleanor with her cloak, hanging it on a hook near the door, then offered a smile.
“Shall we see to our prisoner?”
She gave him a brief frown. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that,”
“It’s what he is at the moment, and for good reason. The man attacked you at your home. Best remember that.”
“I doubt I could forget it,” she replied in a flat, cool tone—one he was coming to realize indicated discomfort rather than annoyance as one might initially assume.
Lightly brushing his hand at the small of her back to guide her across the hall—he couldn’t seem to keep himself from touching her—he added, “Stay close to me. A step behind would be best. The man is extremely skilled at going undetected. He may have other talents and we must be wary.”
She nodded and he felt the subtle tremor transfer through her slim frame to his fingertips.
Instinctively, he stepped closer to her. “I won’t let him hurt you.”
Her dark eyes flicked sideway up to meet his, before sweeping down and forward again. The fact that she continued along the hallway which brought them to a stairway that led down to the cellar, suggested she trusted him to keep her safe.
She probably shouldn’t.
In reality, to keep her truly safe, he shouldn’t be leading her to the intruder at all.
But he understood and respected her need to face the man and learn firsthand what his intentions had been. He would want the same opportunity.
They descended the stairs in silence, Phin taking the lead. At the bottom, there was a short hallway and at the end of that a closed door, barred with a heavy padlock. Iago stood outside.
The loyal manservant gave Phin a questioning glance at the sight of Eleanor past his shoulder.
Phin gave him an assuring nod. “How has he been?”
“Quiet. Disturbingly quiet, if you ask me. The men said he didn’t struggle at all. Never once tried to escape or shout. Not even when they put him in the manacles.” Iago furrowed his bushy brows. “Oddly resigned to his fate, I’d say.”
“Hmm.” Odd, indeed. “Any other weapons?”
“Three concealed daggers of varying size. A length of rope. A few other small oddities that didn’t appear to be of any importance or threat. All of them removed.”
“And he’s properly secured?”
“Hand and foot. I tested the locks myself.”
Phin looked back at Eleanor who returned his glance with a steady stare. She was resolute.
“All right,” he sighed. “Close the door behind us and remain outside. Be on alert and ready to assist.”
“Always, my lord.”
Iago stepped aside and withdrew a key to release the lock. After opening the door, he blocked the threshold with his body until he assured all was right. Then he stepped back to allow their entrance.
Phin reached back and took Eleanor’s hand in his, whispering over his shoulder, “Stay behind me.”
She said nothing in reply, but gave a small squeeze of his hand.
The cellar was empty but for their prisoner. Metal manacles connected by heavy chains encircled his wrists and ankles and a thick length of rope bound him to a solid oak chair in the center of the room. A lantern sat just inside the door, casting a significant glow about the dank space.
As Iago had stated, the man didn’t appear to be resisting his situation at all.
He sat straight and confident, his gaze sharp and focused on them as they entered.
Dressed head to toe in black, he possessed brown skin, black hair, and dark, watchful eyes.
From their brief fight, he knew the man to be of average height and physically fit and strong.
Phin estimated him to be no older than thirty.
The man was still gagged, but he didn’t even try to speak after their entrance. He simply watched.
“You may release his gag before you go,” Phin said to Iago.
The manservant carefully walked behind their prisoner and released the cloth secured over his mouth. Then with a nod, he slipped from the cellar.
As the door closed behind them, Eleanor gave a small flinch and released Phin’s hand.
Though he wished he could reassure her—reclaim her hand, retain some sort of physical contact with her—Phin kept his attention on the man in the chair.
“What is your name?”
There was only a slight pause. “My name doesn’t matter.”
His voice was only subtly accented with the cadence of India, but it was enough to confirm Phin’s prior assumption.
“Why did you attack this woman?”
A short sound issued from the man’s throat. “I did not.”
Phin took a step forward. “Are you denying that you rushed from the shadows of her garden with a sharpened blade?”
“No.”
He raised his voice. “Then why did you attack her?”
“He attacked you,” Eleanor interrupted from much closer behind him than Phin expected.
Though he wanted to turn and warn her to stay back, he felt it more prudent to keep the other man under his gaze. Because of that, he noticed the faintest flicker of acknowledgment in his expression after she spoke.
Tilting his head, Phin scowled. “Fine. Why did you attack me?”
The prisoner lifted his chin to stare with a hard gaze. “Perhaps you should explain why you were hiding in the shadows of the lady’s garden.”
Phin tensed. “I was there to protect her.”
The other man stared back at him, silent for a moment. Then he nodded, a single dip of his chin. “From a danger you invited.”
“I invited nothing.”
“You involved her.”
Phin clenched his teeth as guilt pierced his gut. He wanted to argue, but the man was right. Instead, he took a step forward. His voice dropped. “What exactly did I involve her in?”
The other man arched a black brow. “You have no idea, do you?” His tone was subtly but undeniably taunting.
Phin tensed, but before he could reply, Eleanor stepped up beside him.
“This conversation is going nowhere.”
Though Phin wanted to loop an arm around the woman’s waist and sweep her back behind him, he noticed how the prisoner instantly lowered his gaze to the floor and closed his mouth. Though subtle, his deferring manner was undeniable.
Phin and Eleanor shared a look as they both noticed this.
“You had no intention of hurting me. Did you?” she asked quietly.
He lifted his gaze to him once again. “Of course not.”
“Then why were you there?” Phin pressed. “What was your purpose?”
The man straightened in his chair, something that should have been difficult considering his many bindings. His voice was strong as he replied, “I am a Protector. As my father had been before me and his father before him and his father. Going back centuries.”
“What do you protect?” Eleanor asked.
The prisoner replied earnestly, his tone very different when addressing Eleanor as opposed to Phin, “That is difficult to explain, Kumari. My responsibility cannot be described in just a few words. Or even a single conversation. It is the dharma earned by my family hundreds of years ago that has flowed through generations to me.”
“Dharma?” Phin asked.
The man’s brows lowered and his jaw tensed. “It is a duty of righteousness and redemption.”
“A duty that somehow justifies lurking in the shadows of my home?” Eleanor asked with a regal tilt of her head.
The man did not reply. His posture remained proud and his expression stoic.
She did not soften beneath his silent stare. “I’ve a right to know what cause you had to be there last night.”
Phin watched her with a rush of deep admiration. Her inner strength, when urged to present itself, was stunning to behold.
“Not if the knowledge will bring more peril to your door.”
“What peril?” she pressed, clearly getting a bit frustrated. “If you are not a risk to me, who is?”
The man turned his gaze back to Phin. “Ask the thief.”
Phin had certainly been called worse, but for some reason this accusation stung. “I did not steal the necklace. It was entrusted to me by a friend.”
“Your friend, the thief,” the man sneered.
Phin couldn’t exactly argue that since he wasn’t sure how Barnaby had acquired the artifact. His impulsive friend had something of a history with landing himself in troubles grander and more perilous than should be encountered by a simple entomologist.
“Are you any better?” Phin retorted with an arched brow. “Did you not break into my home? Attack Mr. Mishra at his shop?”
The man turned and spit to the floor. “I am a Protector,” he said sharply. “Those actions were not mine.”
Alarm shot through Phin’s bones, chilling him. Eleanor had swung her wide gaze to him when he’d mentioned the prior incidents, but he didn’t look at her. His stare remained intent upon their prisoner. “If not you, then who?”
“You’ll need to ask your friend that question.” His gaze was hard, cold, and dark. “He worked for them, conspired with them to steal what had been our burden and purpose for generations.”
Though he wanted to inquire more on the meaning of burden and purpose, Barnaby was at the forefront of his concern.
“What happened to him?” Phin asked, taking a step forward. “Is he still alive?”
The man scowled harshly before saying, “His fate is none of my concern.”
His dismissive tone was infuriating. Barnaby was a good man at his core.
Impulsive, perhaps. Passionate and prone to distraction.
But he didn’t deserve such a flippant disregard for his welfare.
Fear for his friend turned to anger, urging Phin to take a long step forward, only to be stopped with a light touch on his arm and a single soft imploring word.
“Wait.”
He looked down at Eleanor to see her attention focused on the man before them. Her stillness and simmering intention drew the other man’s silent gaze.
“Let me be sure I understand.” Her voice was low and steady and impactful. “You call yourself a Protector. Devoted to dharmic purpose. Dedicated for generations to earn redemption for some past transgression.”
Phin stood transfixed as the tenor of her voice shifted into something almost unnatural. Soft but powerful. Rich with meaning.
“I know what karmic debt is being repaid by your bloodline,” she said in quiet confidence. “I know what your ancestor did.”
The man tensed and straightened his spine, sitting taller in the chair even as he bowed his head and lowered his gaze to the floor.
Eleanor cast a quick glance at Phin. In an instant, he saw the truth in her eyes, like a shock of certainty.
The assassin.
When their captive finally spoke, his words were strong despite their low volume. “We cannot alter the past. But we can contain the curse we invited. Our fate is writ. We are the Protectors.”
There was a heaviness in the air as Eleanor pressed, “Protectors of your past? Or of the future?”
For some reason, this question brought his head back up. There was turmoil in his eyes as he looked at her, holding her gaze for a long time before replying in a reverent tone, “It is my duty to protect the future, Kumari.”
To Phin’s limitless admiration, she responded with an unflinching stare. “Then help us. Let us help you. If we release you—”
A jolt of alarm shot through him. He wasn’t expecting that. “No.”
But Eleanor ignored him and lifted her chin. “If we release you,” she repeated more firmly, “will you assist us?”
“Assist you in what?”
“Bringing this issue to a proper conclusion.”
“What I believe to be proper and what you believe to be proper might be very different.”
“Then we will have to discuss it,” she noted simply. “Without blades and bloodshed.”
Phin didn’t like it. Not at all. Though the man had been stripped of any weapons, Phin had seen men cause significant injury and death while completely unarmed.
He was tempted to believe what the man was saying about his motivation and purpose, but that didn’t mean he had to trust him entirely.
Especially not when it came to Eleanor’s safety.
“We shall discuss it,” the man replied.
“Excellent.” Eleanor smiled then turned to Phin expectantly. “Can you call for the keys?”
“No need.” The prisoner shook his wrists and the manacles fell away. Then he shook off the rope binding him to the chair and stood to step out the iron bands around his ankles.
With a rough sweep of his arm, Phin shoved Eleanor behind him. In a roughened growl, he said, “Don’t you fucking move.”