Phoenix and Ashes

He might have spared a moment to pity her, if such an act had not simply shown him that she was as ruthless as her mother. And fear of what they might be doing to Eleanor made him act in a way he probably wouldn't have, otherwise. He reached out and seized both her hands before she could prevent it, and gave the left one a squeeze.

She nearly fainted. And seeping blood stained the side of the glove, where she must have only now cut off the little finger of her left hand. He looked up at Alison's face, and saw that it was suffused with rage.

He had them. "I think—" he began—

And pain and blackness descended on him from behind.

August 12, 1917

Broom, Warwickshire

"Well, Carolyn, you have redeemed yourself in my eyes," Alison said, as Reggie crumpled to the floor. Carolyn stared first at him, then at her mother, wide-eyed, the poker she had used to hit him with still clutched in her nerveless fingers. "Oh, don't look at me like that, you haven't the strength to kill him! You have merely rendered him unconscious. Go and get my kit. I fear we will have two bundles to smuggle out after dark, not one."

She turned to Lauralee, who had reeled against the wall, whimpering with pain, cradling her injured left hand in her right. "I warned you to be sure that you had cauterized the wound properly and that the laudanum had taken effect before you came out of the kitchen!"

"I couldn't help it. He squeezed my hand, Mother," Lauralee replied, her voice faint and full of agony. "He broke open the wound—"

"So he knew all along. He came here looking for Eleanor, and he knew it was Eleanor behind the mask. This is worse than I thought." She stood rigid, rooted in thought, arms crossed over her chest, tapping one finger against her forearm. "That's it; the only hope we have is to take him to the Hoar Stones and make him forget her."

Lauralee blinked up at her mother through tears of pain. "Can you do that?"

"Well, I can make him forget a great deal, and her with it," Alison admitted. "I can erase, in general, every memory he has had since he came home. Then when he wakes, it will be up to you to convince him that he proposed marriage to you last night in the garden, and that he has been in love with you all along."

Carolyn, who had not yet moved, put the poker aside. "But won't that be a problem with his mother?" she faltered. "She wants him to marry within the peerage. That's what everyone was saying last night. And how do we explain that he was injured and his loss of memory?"

Alison shrugged. "We'll say we found him wandering and brought him back. It isn't as if there haven't been rumors about the steadiness of his mind." She frowned. This was getting more complicated by the moment, and dangerous, too. "We'll have to be quick, though. If he doesn't come back by morning—"

"His motorcar is here," Lauralee pointed out. "People will know that. By now, everyone in the village knows that."

Alison gave vent to her feelings with a curse. Carolyn flinched. "Then one of us—me, I suppose—will have to drive our auto, and one of us will have to drive his."

"I'll drive it," Warrick Locke said from the stairs. "Here's your kit, Alison. It was still on the hall table." He handed her the morphia kit and looked down at the prone form of Reggie Fenyx with a lifted brow. "I hope you didn't damage him, Carolyn. Things could be cursed difficult if you have."

"So what if she did?" Alison retorted, filling a syringe and kneeling beside her victim. "It will make my job easier. Bloody hell. I hate complications—"

"Then let's plan this very carefully," Locke said, grimly, "Because this isn't just 'complications,' Alison. You've physically assaulted a man, and not just any man, but a peer, and not just any peer, but a genuine hero of the war. If he remembers what he came for, and what happened to him, the law is going to come into it, and I very much doubt I can get you out of it."

She turned to stare at him as she removed the needle from the vein in Reggie's arm. "You assume I haven't been in this position before."

"If you have, that was in London. In a part of London where people know better than to be curious," he said, coldly. "And you must have dealt with someone who was a nonentity. This is a tiny village, where everyone knows everyone else's business. And this is Captain Reginald Fenyx, baron. Have a care, Alison. This is dangerous."

She took a deep breath and held it to prevent herself from snapping at him. He was right. She needed his help.

The trouble was, it was going to cost her. Men like Warrick Locke could wait decades for an opportunity to get their hooks set in a target—and once they did, it was impossible to shake them off.

"So what do you suggest?" she asked, with feigned meekness.