Chapter 11 #2
“It is nothing,” Marco insisted, all but boneless with exhaustion. He had been awake since the fire, and coupled with the physical exertion of fighting the flames, he was wholly wrung out.
“We must tell them the truth, brother. If that fire had spread, everyone could have been killed.” Angelo’s admonishment was unexpected. Marco turned to look at his brother, wordless, while Angelo cocked his head in encouragement.
Marco sighed heavily. “Yes. Someone is trying to kill me.”
“Why?” Sebastian leaned forward in his chair, his expression uncharacteristically earnest. All of them looked rather haggard after spending half the night awake in the aftermath of extinguishing the fire.
“I cannot explain all of it, because it is a private family matter. But we suspect someone in the house is trying to clear the path for my uncle Simon to inherit.”
Sebastian frowned. “Would that not mean Lord Campbell is involved?”
“No. Lord Campbell left London to protect his wife. Her bloodlines are not acceptable to whoever is behind this.” Marco paused, choosing his words with care.
“I cannot tell you all the details, but Lady Campbell is also a target for this blackguard who is after me. Lord Campbell removed her to safety by taking her to his estates in Scotland, with servants from her own household. I am confident he is not involved.”
“What of the third accident?” Lorenzo demanded. “What was that?”
Marco coughed hard, attempting to clear his throat of the ash that still lingered there. “An urn fell from the roof the day after we arrived. I was able to leap clear.”
“Porca miseria!” Lorenzo cursed, resuming his pacing of the library at a frantic pace that might have powered a mill.
Sebastian leaned back, whistling softly through his teeth. “Three accidents in four days. It is true, then. You are a marked man.”
“I understand if you wish to end your visit,” Marco said wearily. “Perhaps you and Lorenzo could remove yourselves to your brother’s home.”
The Norseman scowled. “Do not be absurd. We accompanied you as friends. We will remain to help defend you.”
“I cannot ask that of you. I cannot even tell you the specifics of why this is happening.”
Lorenzo halted his pacing. “Sebastian is right. We understand enough. Someone in this house is trying to kill you, and we must all remain vigilant while you uncover who it is. In the meantime, the more allies you have about you, the more difficult it will be for these attempts to succeed.”
Angelo nodded, still staring out the window. His usual cheer was absent. The stark proximity of death had muted his spirits. “I agree. We must all remain watchful, and at night, we must lock our bedchambers so we cannot be harmed in our sleep.”
“As if we are children afraid of ghouls and goblins lurking beneath the bed?” Marco’s tone was sour, but his mood was worse.
“Exactly so,” Angelo shot back in a rare flash of fury. “You could have been burned alive if you had not woken in time.”
“Maledizione!” Marco growled, wishing he could find a corner in which to curl up and sleep, though sleep itself had become a peril, inevitably leading him back into the dreadful dreams that had plagued him since his arrival.
“It is time to change our tactics, brother,” Angelo continued. “Perhaps locking our doors is not enough. Perhaps we must keep watch through the night. We cannot allow anything to happen to you.”
As tempers rose between Marco and his brother, Sebastian rose to his feet, towering over them. “We have not had much sleep, so I understand the impulse to quarrel, but I believe we can plan security measures to protect Marco from further … accidents.”
Marco inhaled deeply, digging within himself for a measure of composure, until he finally nodded in acceptance of Sebastian’s proposal.
Suggestions were flung back and forth, and over the next half hour, they hammered out a plan to protect Marco, the baron, and Angelo before his friends departed to take their breakfast. Angelo waited by the door as Marco rose to his feet, his entire body protesting with a stiff refusal of movement.
As he straightened, a familiar face appeared at the window across the room, pressed close to the glass, which fogged with her warm breath. Molly’s eyes found his, and she gestured for him to join her, lifting her hand to reveal something he had not expected.
“Angelo, go ahead. I must attend to something before I eat.”
Shrugging, his brother strode off, eager for sustenance after the long night. Marco closed the library door, crossed the room, and opened the terrace doors, startled by how keenly relieved he was to see her. “Molly?” he called softly.
She ran toward him, gathering her skirts, and Marco paused to take in the sight of her eagerness as she raised the journal again in triumph.
Her obvious excitement dispelled the lingering horror of his nightmare, in which her hair had burned and her face twisted in agony.
The desire to draw her close surged sharply, but he stepped aside to admit her into the room instead.
“I found it! It was in the butler’s pantry! MacNaby tried to hide it, but I would not be deterred.”
Marco caught her by the upper arms, alarm surging at the unknown risks she had taken, mingled with reluctant admiration for her resolve.
He had long known she was unlike any woman he had met, yet the force of his reaction still startled him.
For a brief, unguarded instant, he embraced her, drawing in the scent of cinnamon and warmth, not the acrid smoke of his nightmares, and allowed himself the comfort of her nearness before stepping back.
He must not mislead her with gestures he could not honor while his future remained uncertain.
“You may tell me the rest later,” he said quietly, “but first I must send for MacNaby and demand an explanation.”
She nodded and placed the journal in his hands, her eyes bright in the morning light, and Marco found himself dangerously tempted to forget all restraint and close the distance between them.
The impulse set off a cascade of competing emotions that left him unsteady.
Relief that she was unharmed. Dread at the continued attempts upon his life.
Bewilderment at the thought that the butler might be involved.
Added to this were the lingering terror of waking to flames the night before, the image of Molly suffering in the fiery visions of his dreams, and the unresolved question of what course his future ought to take.
The weight of it all rekindled his earlier temper, bringing it to a sudden boil—
“Where is your chaperon?” he demanded.
Molly recoiled as though struck. “I … well … I wished to speak with you privately. To be certain you were … well. After the fire.”
“You must stop running off from her!” he snapped. “It is not safe. You could ruin yourself if you persist in this way!”
Molly blinked rapidly, her expression falling. “I … am sorry.”
When she turned away, Marco saw the depth of her distress and was instantly appalled by his outburst. He wanted to call her back.
To explain that fear, exhaustion, and helplessness had stripped him of his better judgment, that he had quarreled with his own brother scarcely half an hour earlier, a thing he had never done before.
Magnifico, you beast. Add cruelty to your growing list of disgraceful impulses.
Looking down at the recovered journal, he knew he would have to make amends later.
For now, he must find MacNaby and demand answers to secure the household.
Rubbing at his aching eyes, Marco left the library in search of the butler, keenly aware that lives, perhaps even Molly’s, hung in the balance.