Joe shook his head. “Nothing. There is now no sign of Sayers either. We have men on watch all over the place and nothing. Nobody has had a sighting of anybody. Not even Ben, for God’s sake. How in the Hell could everybody just vanish? Where is everyone?”
Marguerite slid a plate of food across the table toward him and watched him slump into the seat opposite. Her own frustrations were rife given how confined she had been in the house over the last several days. It was difficult to know which was worse, being confined to a house that wasn’t even hers or going out to look for someone who just couldn’t be found.
In spite of his temper, Joe was aware of the domesticity that settled over them as Marguerite poured him a drink and sat down again. The atmosphere could only be described as amiable. The house was nice and warm; thanks to the roaring fire no doubt Marguerite had lit. It also smelled of apple pie, the result of her afternoon spent baking.
“You have been baking again,” he murmured, eyeing the bread on the counter hungrily.
He had to wonder if Marguerite was trying to seduce him with food. Every time he came back to the house, he was assaulted with food, warmth, and a friendly smile. Everything that had happened outside suddenly melted away, as though no more meaningful than a dim and distant nightmare. Still, he didn’t object when she tore off a huge chunk of bread and pushed the butter at him.
“Good Lord, this is good,” he mumbled as he dug into the delicious pie, meat, vegetables, and the bread.
Marguerite studied him while he ate. The anxiety of the last several days was starting to show in the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the faint flicker of anger which had grown steadily over the course of the week. She knew all the men were frustrated at being unable to find their colleague. Reg had been sent off to the outer regions of Kent, where he could do the least damage, especially to Marcus and Ben while they were in Sayers’ hands. While nobody had said as much to her directly, she had overheard their conversations enough to understand that the longer Marcus and Ben were held captive, the less likely they were to be released alive. She wanted to ask Joe if they were looking for the men or their bodies, but daren’t because her father was caught up in all of this somewhere. He too had yet to be found. While she was desperate to know where he was and what had happened to him, a part of her preferred not to know, just in case the news wasn’t good.
“Just how long do I have to stay here?” she asked while Joe was busy stuffing his mouth full of pie.
Without realising what he was doing, his gaze slid over her. Even stressed, she looked stunning. The heat from the fire had caused some of her hair to slide free of its confinement at the top of her head. Those tendrils now danced and bobbed about her face whenever she moved and drew his gaze to the refined beauty it framed.
“You need to stay here for a bit longer, Marguerite,” he said, eager to do something – anything – to take his mind off her. He had to say something to get his mind off the direction his thoughts were taking, and his body’s instinctive response.
Marguerite opened her mouth but, before she could say a word, the back door opened. The only sound she made was a startled gasp when Reg stepped into the room.
Joe glanced over his shoulder, took one look at who was standing in the doorway and bolted out of his seat.
“I thought you were off to Kent,” he snapped.
His tension rose when Reg sauntered casually across the room to stand in front of the fireplace. He warmed himself for several moments without answering.
“I have a job to do here first,” Reg murmured casually. There was no affability in his voice.
Marguerite shivered beneath the man’s steady stare and had to look away when she knew her face betrayed the fear she felt. She had the distinct impression that this man was a predator and was looking for any sign of weakness within her. Instinctively, she sidled closer to Joe.
“Well, good evening.”
Marguerite briefly closed her eyes and prayed that she was mistaken. When she opened her eyes again, her gaze fell on Sayers, who was now standing in the doorway with a look of supreme arrogance on his face.
Joe knew he was in trouble. Against Reg, Joe knew he would win any fight hands-down. With Sayers running interference or trying to accost Marguerite, which is what Joe suspected he was there to do, Joe knew the odds were stacked against him. He held his arm out for Marguerite without taking his eyes off Reg, whom he knew was his biggest threat.
Marguerite ran to him and clung to his shirt. Fortified by Joe’s quiet strength, she glared at Sayers.
“What are you doing here? Don’t you know it is rude to just walk into someone’s house?”
“But this isn’t your house, Marguerite,” Sayers murmured. “I must say, I am surprised at you living with your lover like this.” His gaze fell pointedly to Marguerite’s ring finger. “Not married yet?”
“I don’t see that has anything to do with you,” she countered angrily. “Get out of this house.”
She wished she could order Reg out, not least because she hated the way the man seemed to be sizing Joe up. The tension within the room rose tenfold. Everyone seemed frozen in time. There could be little doubt that each was waiting for the other to make one move that could be deemed threatening and then all hell would break loose.
It didn’t take long.
Joe slowly turned to face the Count, and then noticed the tall coachman standing behind him. It was too dark to see the man’s face but Joe knew that with three against one he would be lucky to get out of this alive. He threw Marguerite an apologetic look for having failed her.
“Joe,” she whispered when she saw that look. She knew immediately that his chances of surviving were not great. Horrified, she turned to Sayers and glared hatefully at him. “I will see you rot in Hell for this,” she hissed.
Joe barely heard her. He turned his attention to the men he had to spar with next.
“Why?” He demanded of Reg when he turned to face him. “How do you do this to your own colleagues?”
Reg shrugged, an arrogant sneer of contempt on his face. “The money was good. You forget, Joe, I am not titled, and don’t have a wealthy family behind me. The pittance the army paid me was gone before the war had even finished. What was I supposed to do, be like those beggars out on the streets all bloody and torn begging for a few pennies for a morsel? Having fought for king and country, what did I get? Eh? I got nothing, that’s what I got. I got conscripted into the bloody Star Elite, to throw my life away. Well, I am sick of it. I am sick and tired of standing in the bloody dark, staring at people who are making themselves a fortune. Why shouldn’t I get paid handsomely for what I do? Don’t you see? It’s an endless war. As soon as you deal with men like Sayers, there will be three more just like him appear.”