Benedict shook his head. He’d made an effort to remain unfoxed that night. He had to keep his wits about him, and he couldn’t afford to fall into too deep a slumber.
“No, thank you,” he said. “Get some rest. Your tonic should be taking effect soon.”
“Very good, sir. You do the same.”
As the butler headed to his quarters on the first floor, Benedict wearily made his way up the stairs to his bedchamber. Craving fresh air, he cracked open a window before he stripped off his cravat and looped it over the closest of the four bed posts. His shirt came next. That wound up tossed in a heap upon a chair. Clad in his trousers, he lay flat upon his bed and folded his arms behind his head.
The cool air nipped at his skin, but he welcomed its small bite. The sensation distracted him from his thoughts. The look in Alex’s eyes as she’d left the Colton Agency had been a blow to the gut. The faintest ember of distrust had smoldered in her gaze, ready to flare into a full flame at the slightest provocation. Not that he blamed her. It wasn’t every day that a woman heard a criminal of the worst sort declare that the man she’d once loved would one day march to the gallows.
He’d committed his fair share of sins. Perhaps more than his fair share, truth be told. Still, she’d defended him, even in the face of Matthew Colton’s accusation. But there was no denying the flicker of doubt below the surface of her protest.
Why had it wounded him to see that expression flash across her features? It wasn’t as if he’d done anything to deserve her trust. But still, he couldn’t deny the peculiar sense of loss that hurt like a physical pain.
He’d thought some of the ice between Alexandra and himself had melted. That was, until that bastard Rooney had taunted her.
It didn’t seem possible that she’d believe the vicious implication of Rooney’s words. Surely, she could not entertain the notion that he’d committed murder. Or that anything he’d ever done had come close to such a vile act.
Someone hated him. He knew that now. Someone with money, but no conscience to hold them back from a depraved scheme. The jackal had set Rooney upon Alex. That much was evident. Had she stood in the way of whatever it was they wanted? Or had killing Alex represented a means to an end—an end that involved inflicting some twisted fate upon Benedict?
He’d wanted to protect her. Well, he’d royally cocked it up, hadn’t he? Would Rooney have gone after her if he’d stayed away from London?
His regrets made no difference. He had to keep Alex safe. He’d wanted to get his hands on that map. Now, he shoved that quest to the back of his thoughts. Possessing the route to the treasure wasn’t the priority. No, that had changed in the instant he’d seen Rooney put his hands on her. Now, he had to find a way to keep her alive.
He closed his eyes. The afternoon’s events were reenacted in his thoughts. If he lived to be a very old man, he would not forget Rooney’s voice as he’d spewed his venom, every word calculated to turn Alex against him.
After he’d led Alex away from the criminal, Colton had made his contempt for Benedict clear. The man’s accusing glare had angered him, but God knew he understood the agent’s position. Matthew Colton cared for Alex, just as a brother cared for his kin. She was his wife’s only sister. If anything happened to her, a man like him would feel he’d failed not only Alex but his family. Colton’s skepticism was justified. But it didn’t make it any easier to stomach.
The rumble of a carriage in the street beyond his townhouse drifted through an open window. The sound was not unusual. Still, it set his nerves on edge. He rolled onto his side and gave his pillow a sound thump for good measure. God above, he was as jumpy as a tomcat hearing a growl in the darkness.
A minute passed. Or had he dozed off and missed the progression of time? Roderick’s heavy footsteps outside his door startled him to wakefulness. A bold knock followed.
“What is it, man?” he called.
“You have a visitor.” Roderick’s tone reflected both his exhaustion and his annoyance.
“A visitor? At this hour?”
“Yes. One of the Colton Agency gents.”
“Something is wrong.” Benedict sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side of the mattress. He was up and pulling on his shirt before he received an answer.
“I do not believe that to be the case,” Roderick said. “He says he comes bearing a message from Miss Quinn.”
“Good God.” Benedict tugged on his boots and followed Roderick to the entry hall.
A burly man he recognized as a member of Alex’s security detail waited by the door. “Miss Quinn asked me to give this to you.”
Benedict took the envelope from the man’s hand and tore it open. The letter inside was brief and to the point, penned in Alexandra’s rounded, gently flowing script. She needed him to come to her that night, propriety be damned.
“Do you know what this is about?” he asked the guard.
The man gave his head a brisk shake. “She did not offer any information beyond the urgency of the message. Miss Quinn also requested that I see to your security,” the man said.
“She did, eh?”
“Miss Quinn was rather insistent on the point. You can come with me.”
“That will not be necessary. I will drive my own carriage.”
