Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(63)

Watson averted his eyes and handed him a note. “You have visitors, sir.”

Adam accepted the envelope but when his gaze landed on the seal, he froze.

“I’ve directed your visitors to your office, sir. Can I be of any further assistance?”

“That will be all,” he murmured.

The gold signet on Adam’s finger served as a metallic reminder that he belonged to The Brethren. He always would. Adam tamped down the potent blend of frustration, anger, and disappointment that roiled in his gut. Since his dismissal from The Brethren, he’d enjoyed more peace than he’d ever known and, damn it, he wanted to hold onto it as long as he could.

He took a deep breath. Perhaps he was worrying needlessly. Perhaps “The Sovereign” wouldn’t ask anything of him.

As he opened the door to his office, he knew he was being foolishly optimistic.

Lucien Bennett stood at the center of the room with his hands clasped behind him. A stranger with a hard, flint-eyed stare stood beside him.

Adam closed the door and turned around. He bowed. “Gentlemen.”

Bennett dropped his arms to his side. “Markham.” He held a black leather folio in his right hand.

A frisson of unease ran through him. He forced it aside and strode over to the drink cart stationed alongside his desk. “May I offer you a drink?” He held up a crystal decanter of brandy.

Bennett nodded but the tall, brooding stranger beside him shook his head.

Adam pulled the stopper off the bottle. “Gentlemen, how may I be of assistance?”

“Markham, allow me to introduce a fellow member,” Bennett drawled. “This is Mr. Edward Helling.”

Adam started. Amber droplets splashed the wood surface.

Grace’s husband?

So Grace had married a member of The Brethren. The scandal sheets had claimed Grace’s was a love match. Her father, Blakely, however, was one of the oldest leaders of the organization.

Now Adam wondered if there were more to their union.

Helling’s eyes narrowed, as if he’d detected the direction Adam’s thoughts had taken. Adam bristled with annoyance of his own. This was no social call. “Gentlemen…”

Bennett held up a hand. “We’re here on a matter of importance.”

Damn Bennett and his cryptic tone. Adam handed a glass to Bennett who downed it in one swallow. Adam’s own throat burned. He curled his fingers into the sides of the cart to keep from reaching for the bottle and pouring a healthy glass for himself.

“Perhaps you should sit, Markham.” Helling’s voice jerked Adam’s attention away from his thirst for spirits.

Bennett nodded and gestured to the leather sofa.

“I don’t need to,” Adam said.

Bennett and Helling exchanged a look.

“Say whatever it is that brought you here,” Adam snapped.

He’d found peace outside The Brethren. He didn’t want any part of their world. Not anymore. He had a wife he loved. A wife who, even now, could be carrying his child. His heartbeat sped at the image of Georgina’s belly heavy with child. That was the life he wanted. Not—

Bennett held out the folio.

Adam looked at it. A horrific sense of doom lingered in the air. He told himself he was being foolish. He told himself that.

But he didn’t believe it.

“You need to understand,” Bennett said. “We were operating under assumptions. Had we known anything with absolute certainty we would have intervened.”

Adam hesitated then accepted the packet. The book felt heavy in his hands. He turned it over. A pit settled in his stomach, heavy and nauseating.

“Read it, Markham,” Helling said, his tone surprisingly gentle.

Adam glanced at Grace’s husband. Pity shone in the other man’s eyes.

Adam had enough pity from his family. He didn’t need it from this man, too. He opened the folio.

Bennett said, “Had we suspected you were in any danger we would have said something immediately. We were not concerned…until now.”

A loud buzz filled Adam ears.

His eyes scoured the first page. He read the notes, until he stumbled over the last sentence on the parchment.

Henry Wilcox, known as Fox. Son of an English merchant and Irish mother. Friend and supporter of the United Irishmen.

He turned the page. Snippet after snippet called his attention.

Wilcox, a wealthy merchant.

Georgina Patience Wilcox. Daughter to the Fox

Jamie Marshall, known as Hunter, orphaned son of an Irish merchant. Raised alongside Georgina Wilcox.

Adam’s hands shook. The words blurred together. He turned page after damning page.

No!

The folio slipped from his fingers and tumbled to the floor where it landed with a heavy thump.

Bile climbed to the back of his throat. He choked it down. It couldn’t be… If this was right, Georgina was a traitor. She bore the blood of his captor. He stared down at the documents on his library floor.

“You’re wrong,” he choked out.

They had to be, because if they weren’t, the beast of madness would devour Adam. Shred him to pieces. He pressed his fingers into his eyes, trying to blot out the ugly truth.

“I read her file. She seems like a good woman,” Helling began. Bennett glared at him. “I wish we were wrong,” Helling tossed at his superior. Then turned back to Adam. “But it’s true, Markham.”