It was the least he could do for her after he’d treated her so shabbily. He wanted to believe that she truly loved him, but he knew it was only something she’d convinced herself of because of their circumstances. Hurting her now would be far better than causing her pain every day over a lifetime together.
Esme was unsure of where Fielding had gone today, but his absence made her own plans all the easier. Mr. Nichols’s death meant Mr. Brown was most certainly in danger. She’d received correspondence from him in this morning’s Times, and currently she was on her way to their meeting destination.
His note had suggested she go to the east corner of Hyde Park. She scanned the park benches but found no one who seemed to be looking for her.
“Miss Worthington?” a voice came from behind her. “Yes.” She turned to find a young man wearing a red-and-black livery standing there. He was fresh-faced and smiling warmly.
“I have your carriage ready,” he said. “Mr. Brown sent me.”
“He was supposed to meet me here in the park.” For one second she paused, uncertain if she should go. Mr. Brown had approached Mr. Nichols regarding his research. Their correspondence had proved so mutually helpful that eventually Mr. Nichols had invited him to join his ongoing cryptic discussions with Esme via the Times. If Mr. Nichols could trust him, then so could she.
“Yes, but my employer suggested it might be safer for you to discuss these delicate issues in a more private place.” The young man gave her a sheepish grin. “I believe he’s actually too afraid to leave the house.”
Of course he was; he had good reason to be. It pleased her that he was heeding her warning. She nodded, then followed the boy to the carriage. Two large steeds stomped impatiently.
Nearly twenty minutes later they traveled through two large iron gates on a drive that circled in front of a sprawling estate just on the outskirts of London. Far enough from the city to take up more than just vertical space, it was as high as it was wide. With its parapets and sharp towers, it looked ominous and foreboding as it stretched up to meet the heavy morning clouds. Gargoyles watched over the grayish-green stone like little demons waiting to pounce.
She’d had no idea Mr. Brown was so wealthy. Or had such Gothic taste.
The carriage door was flung open, and a chilled wind swirled around her. She clutched her cloak tighter.
“Miss Worthington.” The driver held his hand out to her.
He ushered her safely inside a second before the clouds opened and rain fell in heavy sheets. “Thank goodness we made it inside safely,” she said. But the boy had disappeared. In his place stood an elderly butler.
He gripped her arm and pulled her forward.
“Unhand me, sir.” Esme jerked her arm away from the short, crooked man. “I am quite capable of walking on my own.”
The old man gave her a disgusted look but allowed her to walk freely. She followed him through a long hall until they came to some double-wood doors that opened into a large room. After she stepped inside, the nasty little man closed both doors behind her. They shut with an echoing thud that mirrored the dread lying heavy in her stomach. Perhaps she should not have come alone.
The plush Persian rug softened her steps as she walked farther into the room. Ornately carved chairs with more swirls and curves than she could count sat scattered throughout the space. Their embellishments were enhanced by the garish blue-velvet upholstery.
Slowly she walked the perimeter, scanning her environment. A mahogany desk, as ornamental as the chairs, took up most of the back quarter of the room. Hanging directly behind the large piece of furniture was what looked to be a medieval sword; the blade shimmered as if recently sharpened. A collection of smaller knives and daggers flanked the sword on every side. Evidently her host had an appreciation for old weaponry.
She had just taken a seat when she glanced at the crest above the fireplace.
A large black bird on a red background.
Oh, God. What had she done? She stood and started for the door.
“How nice of you to join me, Esme.” The Raven stepped out of the shadows. “Welcome to Black Manor. I rarely get visitors, so this is a treat.”
She turned to face him. “How did you know I’d be in the park today?”
The expression that crossed his features was one of sheer disappointment. He turned his back to her and made his way to the brandy tray.
“It’s been you all along. You’re Mr. Brown.” She sank back into the tightly padded chair. “That’s how you knew I had the key.”
“Because you told me,” he said, pointing his brandy snifter in her direction. “And there was that time in the library. You told me all about your pendant.”
It had been him and she’d simply forgotten his face.
She’d been a fool.
“I admit it did take some doing to uncover your true identity,” the Raven said. “Mr. Spencer only got me so far; clever of you to use your father’s first name like that.”
“You killed Mr. Nichols,” she said. Her stomach turned over as she said it. This was her fault. All her fault.