back of his head. According to the note he sent me this morning, he’d just departed White’s when he was accosted from behind. Father recalled a sharp pain in the back of his head, then nothing else until he awoke, on a sofa in White’s, being tended to by the doctor. A gentleman leaving the club found Father lying in the street.” Her chin quivered and she blinked rapidly. “With his frail health, we’re lucky he survived at all.”
Philip’s gaze sought out Andrew’s, whose lips were pressed into a flat line. Edward and Bakari looked equally grim.
“I’m afraid there’s more,” Catherine said, regaining his attention. “Last night, an intruder entered my bedchamber.”
Everything in Philip froze, and for several seconds he couldn’t speak as full-blown fury raced through him. Before he could find his voice, she continued, “I was awakened by a noise on my balcony. At first I thought it was the wind, but then I saw a black-garbed figure entering my chamber through the French doors.”
“What did you do?” Philip asked, biting back his outrage that whoever wanted to hurt him was doing so in this way.
“I jumped up, grabbed the fire poker, and swung it at him for all I was worth. As it was very dark, I’m not quite sure what part of him I hit, but I believe it was his upper arm. I raised the poker to swing again, and he ran. Vaulted over the balcony to the garden and disappeared into the mews.” She rested her palm against Philip’s cheek. “Stop looking so worried. He didn’t hurt me. Truly.”
Despite the tension cramping his stomach, a ghost of a smile whispered across Philip’s lips. “Coshed him with the fire poker, did you? Good girl, Imp. You always were a spitfire.”
A shaky laugh sounded from her throat. “At that moment, perhaps, but seconds later I was shaking, and, I’m embarrassed to admit, quite weepy. I kept thinking, what if I had not awakened when I did?”
A shudder ran through her, and Philip gathered her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’ve always been the bravest girl I know. And even the bravest warriors sometimes cry after the battle is over.”
“You’re certain you weren’t hurt, Lady Bickley?” Andrew asked, his voice tight.
Catherine turned toward Andrew. “Yes. I-” Moving from Philip’s embrace, she stepped toward Andrew, her eyes filling with surprise and concern. “Good heavens, Mr. Stanton. It seems I should be asking that question of you.”
“Andrew was also attacked last evening,” Philip said. He quickly told her about the threatening notes. Just as he finished, the brass knocker again sounded. Bakari answered the door, then handed Philip a note. Breaking the seal, Philip scanned the few lines, and relief flooded him.
“It’s from Meredith, advising she plans to call upon me this morning”-he pulled out his pocket watch and consulted the time-“an hour from now. She writes that Goddard will drive her, so she is obviously safe and not alone, thank God.” Turning toward Andrew, Edward, and Bakari, he said, “I’m going to escort Catherine to our father’s townhouse to see her safely settled and to check on him. You three go to the warehouse and continue to search through the remaining crates, which will serve the dual purpose of protecting them. I’ll meet you there-after I’ve spoken to Meredith. When we’ve finished with the last crates, we’ll go to the dock to await the
“The
“Yes. I received word this morning that she is scheduled to dock this evening.”
As they all quickly donned their coats, Philip said, “Andrew, you and the others use my carriage.”
“And what will you use?” Andrew asked.
“I’ll ride in Catherine’s carriage to Father’s, then hire a hack.” Grabbing his walking stick from the porcelain stand in the foyer, he stepped outside. “Be careful, and I’ll see you soon,” he said to his friends, then escorted Catherine to her waiting coach.
As their father’s townhouse was well within walking distance, the ride took only a few minutes, during which time Philip tightly clasped Catherine’s hand and inwardly thanked God that she had not been hurt. Or worse.
When they arrived at their father’s townhouse, Catherine was immediately escorted to the master bedchamber, while Philip took a moment to speak to Father’s butler. “Instruct the staff that no one other than myself is to enter this house, Evans. No one. For any reason. Nor do I want Lady Bickley or Father to leave for any reason.”
Evans’s thin face paled. “You think there’s danger about, my lord?”
“No, Evans. I
Evans drew himself up to his full height. “Rest assured, my lord, that I’ll not allow any further harm to come to your father or sister.”
“I know, Evans. And now I’d like to see Father.” When Evans made to escort him, Philip said, “I know the way. Better for you to talk to the staff, then keep your post at the door.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Philip climbed the stairs, then turned down the corridor toward the master bedchamber. He knocked on the door, and was bade to enter by a muffled voice. Entering the room, he closed the door, then crossed the royal blue Axminster rug to the bed. Catherine sat in a wing chair next to the far side of the bed, clasping Father’s hand.
Philip’s insides tensed as he took in the white bandage encircling Father’s head, and his arm supported by a splint and heavily bandaged as well. Pain radiated from his pale, pinched face and was clearly reflected in his eyes, but he managed a wan smile.
“Good to see you, son.”
Philip grasped his hand, and fought to push back the guilt and anger stabbing him. “Good to see you as well, Father. How are you feeling?”
“A bit worse for the wear, I’m afraid, but Doctor Gibbens assures me I’ll make a full recovery.” He pursed his lips. “Damn impertinent man. Told me it was fortunate I possessed such a hard head. When I asked him if he recalled to whom he was speaking, he had the temerity to
A lump swelled Philip’s throat. Although in pain, clearly Father was attempting a bit of levity for his and Catherine’s sake, a fact which made Philip feel worse rather than better. Forcing a smile and what he hoped passed for a light tone, he said, “I’ll wager Dr. Gibbens said he would look forward to that.”
“As a matter of fact, those were his exact words.”
“Ah, yes, mind-reading. One of the talents I developed abroad. Did I not mention that?”
“No,” Father said. “And I would like to point out that I am not hardheaded.”
“Of course not,” Philip and Catherine said simultaneously.
Father winced with obvious discomfort and all remnants of Philip’s levity vanished. Clasping his father’s hand between both of his own, he briefly explained about the other attacks, concluding with, “I believe there is a connection between these attacks and my search for the missing piece of the Stone of Tears. Someone is attempting to make me suffer by hurting those close to me. Unfortunately, he has succeeded. Until now.” He looked steadily into his father’s eyes. “I will find out who is responsible and I will stop him. I give you my word, Father.”
A long look passed between them. Then Father nodded and squeezed his hand. “You’re a fine man, son. I have every faith that you will keep your word.”
A breath he hadn’t even realized he held whooshed past Philip’s lips-a breath that carried away a bit of the millstone weight that had hung about his heart since his mother’s death. Neither he nor Father were great communicators, a fact that had compounded the stilted awkwardness and distance between them over the years. But with those simple words his father had just uttered, he felt as if a bridge had been constructed. And he had every intention of crossing its span. He hoped his news would provide the first step.
“Father, regarding my marriage… I want you to know I am more determined than ever to solve the curse because I’ve met the woman I wish to marry-and the thought of not having her as my wife is unthinkable.”
Catherine clasped her hands over her heart, a sound of surprised delight coming from her. “Oh, Philip, I’m so happy you found someone you care for.”
Before he could tell Catherine that he more than merely
