by Aston, Alexa
“Simmer down,” he said as he removed his cravat and then used his fingers to push the handkerchief deeper into her mouth. He tore the cravat in two and wound one of the halves around her mouth and head a few times before knotting it behind her head.
Gemma inhaled in and out quickly, trying to get air. Brandon stroked her head, causing her to cringe.
“Easy, my lady. Slow breaths. You’ll be fine. This just guarantees you won’t make any noise.”
She looked up at him and swallowed. Tried to slow her breathing. Her panic subsided somewhat when she felt she wouldn’t suffocate.
“There. That’s a good girl,” he said in soothing tones.
Brandon grinned at her and then cupped her breast. She tried to knock his hand away with her bound wrists. He laughed, pushing them to her lap and then twisting her nipple painfully. Gemma cried out behind the gag, the sound muffled.
“That’s so you’ll behave. Your father said I could do whatever it took to keep you in line. You won’t give me any problems now, will you?”
She shook her head, cold fear pooling in her belly, as he took the other half of his cravat and secured it around her ankles.
He rose and lifted her by the waist, slinging her over his shoulder. She had no idea where he was taking her. They moved down the stairs and through the house. She caught the scent of bread and realized he’d brought her through the kitchen. They went out the rear of the house and he opened the door of a waiting carriage, placing her inside and seating himself beside her.
“I suppose you wonder where I’m taking you,” he said conversationally, as if they were going for a drive through the park. “Your father is worried that Nicholson might try to mount some kind of rescue since he was told you’d be taken here. That’s why you’re being moved, just in case your lover tries to play the hero.”
Brandon looked at her with pity. “Heroes die, though. More often than not. In the case of your Mr. Nicholson, it will be sooner rather than later.”
Gemma turned her head away. He only laughed.
The carriage slowed and came to a halt.
“I’ll be right back,” Brandon promised with a wink, exiting the carriage.
When the door opened, she saw it was still dark. They were close to a structure but she had no idea where they could be. After several minutes, her captor returned.
“Come along,” he said cheerfully, tossing her over his shoulder again.
She bounced along uncomfortably as he entered somewhere and then ascended a flight of stairs and moved down a long hallway.
He stopped. “Is this where you want her?”
“Yes,” a woman’s voice said.
Brandon turned a knob and crossed a room, where he dropped her on a bed. Gemma looked over his shoulder and saw Selina Crawford standing there, her face drawn and white, her arms wrapped protectively about her.
“How long will she be here?” Mrs. Crawford asked.
“Today. Some of tomorrow. After that, I’ll take her off your hands,” he promised. “Give me the key.”
Reluctantly, the courtesan handed it over to him.
“No one’s to know she’s here,” Brandon instructed. “Leave her until I return.”
Mrs. Crawford nodded. Brandon swept past her and the woman looked at Gemma.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed and then turned and followed Brandon.
Gemma heard the key turn in the lock. She doubted she would leave this room alive.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Burke returned home and went to the small dining room. He removed the single pages from the book he’d taken from Selina Crawford’s desk and set them out. He also discovered two envelopes inserted near the back and withdrew them from the book. First, he read the loose pages and discovered one contained a list of five names, with a line drawn through Sir Paxton Morris. As Gemma suspected, both King George and the Prince of Wales appeared on the list, along with the prime minister and Wellesley. Obviously, Fouché aimed high in his effort to disrupt the British government.
Next, he opened both envelopes and read the letters within them. One, mentioning no names, merely said Fouché was ready for his friends to embark upon the agreed upon operation and that he looked forward to the order in which things would be accomplished. Burke supposed it referred to the list of men to be assassinated. The second letter, though, was addressed to Lord Hampton. In it, he was promised everything Sir William Barton had been by the French and told him that he was free to eliminate Barton once the assassinations had been completed.
So Hampton was playing from all sides. It must be why he’d kept a meticulous record of the conspirators’ meetings and payments issued. Thank the heavens this record now lay in the government’s hands and would be used to bring these men to justice.
He read through the entire journal while waiting for Jones and Morris to arrive, discovering two others involved beyond the circle of five. When they reached his home, he showed the spymaster the list of those men who were targeted for assassination and briefly summarized what the book he’d claimed from Mrs. Crawford’s contained.
“She had no role in the circle, other than providing a place for the rebels to meet. Even then, she was told it was a business matter,” Burke said. “In exchange for this evidence, I told her we would leave her name out of all matters. She will leave London and never return.”
“I can live with that,” Morris said. “You’ve exceeded my expectations, Nicholson.”
“There is one other matter,” he said.
Morris regarded him sagely. “Jones has told me that Lady Covington is being held prisoner at her father’s townhouse. I know you’ve developed a personal relationship with her.”
He nodded.
“No harm should come to her as we arrest Barton and the others at the War Office. Then she can be retrieved.”
“Remember, Carpenter doesn’t work there,” Burke reminded the spymaster. “Neither do the two other names of the Frenchmen living in London under assumed names.”
“I realize that. Right now, I want Jones to bring the prime minister here so we can lay out the case before him and have the warrants drawn up.” Morris looked to the other agent. “It’s close to dawn. Perceval will already be up. I know because he tells me that his passel of children rise well before they should. All you need to tell him is Nightingale. He’ll come straightaway. It’s a code word to be used under the direst of circumstances.”
Jones nodded and left. Burke longed to rush to Gemma but understood he must follow protocol.
“Let’s take a closer look at the proof that will cause these traitors to swing from the gibbet,” Morris said.
Less than an hour later, Jones returned with Perceval. Astonishment filled the prime minister’s face when he caught sight of Morris.
“Feel as if you’ve seen a ghost?” Morris teased.
Perceval regained his composure. “You’re looking quite hale and hearty for a dead man, Sir Paxton. I assume you had good cause to let us all think you dead.”
“I did, Prime Minister. Have a seat. I shall turn things over to Mr. Nicholson, who is one of our most ingenious agents.”
All four men sat and Burke spent the next half-hour outlining the work he and others had accomplished in ferreting out the nest of traitors, the bulk of whom served in the War Office. He slid the book and list of names to Perceval, who studied both for several minutes.
“This is evidence enough to convict every last one of them,” the prime minister said. “You have done the crown a great service, Mr. Nicholson. Warrants will be issued immediately for their arrests. I want them all in custody by noon at the latest. Nicholson, you may head up the matter and lead the arrests. Sir Paxton, I’m afraid you’ll have to remain dead for a few more hours. Showing your face at headquarters would tip off our plan.”
“Mr. Prime Minister, there is another matter,” Burke continued. “Barton is holding his daughter, Lady Covington, hostage. That should be added to the charges.”
> “Lady Covington?” Perceval turned to Morris. “Why, isn’t she the one who has created our latest code?”
“You know about that?” Burke asked.
“Sir Paxton has kept her name from others but he did share it with me recently. Her cipher has only been in place a short while but is proving most effective. By all means, we’ll add kidnapping to the charges. Once the conspirators have been taken into custody, Lady Covington will need to be freed.”
“I’ll see to it,” Burke volunteered.
The prime minister rose. “I’ll take care of the warrants now. They’ll be delivered here, along with a team of agents to help you serve them and take these bastards into custody.”
“Thank you, Prime Minister,” Morris said. “Jones will see you where you need to be.”
After the two men left, Burke and Morris discussed the strategy for arresting the traitors. They decided to go after Carpenter and the two French spies posing as Englishmen before taking those at the War Office. Word of arrests at the War Office would spread quickly and Burke believed the other three would go on the run and possibly never resurface. Taking them first and then shutting down all exits at the War Office would allow them to capture Barton, Hampton, Melton, and Brandon in one fell swoop.
Then Burke decided it would be easier to take the three noblemen by luring them to a false meeting.
“I suggest we have the prime minister call a meeting in which all of them would be in attendance,” he told Morris. “Brandon could be picked up elsewhere in the building.”
“A brilliant idea, Nicholson. When Jones returns, I’ll send him to Perceval so it can be set up.”
His butler interrupted. “Mr. Nicholson, there is a young woman here who insists upon speaking to you. She says she has a message of utmost importance and she won’t leave until she delivers it to you.”
“I’m busy. Bring me the note.”
The butler frowned. “It’s not a written message, sir. She says she must speak to you directly.”
Burke said, “I’ll see her at once.” Looking to Morris he said, “This could be related to our investigation.”
When the butler returned, he recognized the woman immediately. It was the maid from Selina Crawford’s house that had first told him of the meetings Lord Hampton held.
She sighed with relief when she saw him. “Good morning, sir. I’m Gracie.”
“I remember you helped me before, Gracie. I hope you’re here to do so again.”
The maid nodded. “I’m to tell you something important and then I’m supposed to stay here. Mrs. Crawford had me go out the back door and told me not to come back.”
“You’re more than welcome to remain here all day,” Burke said soothingly, noting how jittery the maid was.
She looked to Morris. “I don’t know about him.”
“He’s a friend,” Burke said. “He’s helping me with something just as you are. What does Mrs. Crawford wish me to know, Gracie?”
“Lady Covington was brought in the middle of the night and is locked in a bedchamber.” The servant let out a long breath. “A man said she was to stay at Mrs. Crawford’s until tomorrow and then he’d be back for her. No one’s to know she’s there.”
Burke’s heart slammed against his ribs yet he calmly said, “Thank you, Gracie. That’s very helpful information. You were brave to come and tell me.”
“Will you help me find another position? Like you said?”
He smiled reassuringly. “I most certainly will. For today, though, you are to be a lady of leisure.” He looked to Morris. “I’ll be back after I get Gracie settled.”
When Burke returned, a slew of men had arrived in his absence. Morris was issuing orders. He introduced Burke and the team mapped out their strategy.
As the group readied to leave, Burke told Morris, “Enjoy the last hours of your death. You’ll be alive and at your desk tomorrow, buried in work so deep you might wish you were dead.”
Since it was a little after nine, he decided to check Carpenter’s home first. His hunch paid off, as the viscount was still asleep in bed and quickly taken into custody. The two Frenchmen’s arrests came next. Burke left men to scour through their abodes, hoping to find additional evidence of Fouché’s spy network in England.
The War Office was their final destination. Jones had caught up with them and said the meeting Perceval scheduled would take place at eleven. Burke held the agents for ten minutes before he allowed the team to enter the building, where they quickly apprehended Brandon and took him into custody. Jones led them straight to their destination as crown agents swarmed the room, snatching up Hampton and Melton.
But no Sir William Barton.
Burke grabbed Melton by the lapels and shouted, “Where is he?”
“I don’t know who you mean,” the earl protested.
“Barton!” barked Burke.
Melton’s eyes darted frantically about the room. “I don’t know. He was here. Earlier.”
He flung the traitor from him and another agent latched on to Melton, leading him from the room.
“Has anyone seen Barton?” Burke demanded, looking from man to man.
No one had.
He told Jones, “You’re in charge. Send men to Barton’s townhouse. I’m going to Mrs. Crawford’s,” and Burke rushed from the building.
Somehow, Barton had known not to attend the meeting. If he returned home and made his escape from there, Jones would arrest him. Burke feared, though, that the bastard would go after Gemma, blaming her for his treachery being uncovered.
He had to reach her before her father did. Life would be meaningless without Gemma.
*
Gemma had worked at the knot tied behind her head for a long time and it finally paid off. She pulled at the cravat, winding it around her head and finally tossing it to the ground. Removing the handkerchief from her mouth was painful. Her mouth had gone bone dry, her lips cracked. Once it was gone, she breathed deeply. Her jaw ached from being held wide open for so many hours. She was hungry and thirsty and tired.
And angry. Very, very angry.
She needed to free her wrists and ankles now and scooted from the bed. She surveyed the room, looking for anything she could use to cut her bonds. A vase rested on a table by the window and she hopped to it. Lifting it between her fingers, she slammed it against the wall, praying no one nearby would come to check on her.
Taking one of the large, broken shards, Gemma held it between her fingers and rubbed it back and forth against the cravat binding her ankles. Perspiration dampened her hairline as she worked but the jagged edge finally broke through the cloth and she freed herself. As the blood flowed again, a terrible stinging occurred. She sat in a chair and shook her feet out several minutes and then the pain finally subsided.
Cutting through the rope Brandon had used to bind her wrists would take much longer. At least now her feet were free. If an opportunity came to run, she could. She hiked up her skirt to make sure the small pistol Burke had trained her to use was fastened to her leg. Brandon had underestimated her by not checking her for weapons. She would never be able to fire it, though, unless she had the use of her hands.
She chose a new shard since the other seemed dull now and placed it between her feet, trying to hold it steady as she worked the rope back and forth across it. If she’d worn boots, it would have been much easier. In her ballroom slippers, though, it made her efforts much harder.
Her belly growled, complaining of hunger. Sweat beaded on her forehead and dropped onto the rope as she continued to saw. Gemma was determined to keep at it all day. Brandon had said she would be here until tomorrow.
Hours later, she’d made little progress. The rope was too thick and she grew weary. She decided to rest her cramping fingers for a few minutes.
And hope no one came early for her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Burke entered Selina Crawford’s house from the rear, hurrying through the kitchen. The cook, chopping carrots, gawke
d at him. He raced up the back staircase and saw Selina pacing in the corridor. He strode toward her and she caught sight of him.
He took her by the shoulders. “Everyone has been arrested but Barton. He may be headed here for his daughter, either to punish her or try to use her in his escape.”
“Lady Covington’s father is involved in the conspiracy?” she asked.
He realized she’d never met the other men and said, “It’s of no consequence. Lock yourself in your bedchamber. Don’t come out until you’re told.”
Burke released her and then added, “Thank you for getting word to me about Gemma.”
She gave him a knowing smile. “Somehow, I knew she’d never given up on you. Or you on her.”
Selina went across the corridor and turned to look at him. “She’s lucky to have you.”
“No,” he said. “I’m the lucky one. If she’ll have me when all this is done.”
The door closed and he heard Selina engage the lock. He turned and looked at the barrier that kept him from Gemma.
Not for long.
Burke took a few steps back and charged toward the door, throwing his shoulder against it. It took two more attempts before he broke through, stumbling as he entered, his balance off. Then he spied Gemma, her clothes rumpled, her hair partly undone, one side of her face swollen and bruised from the blow Barton had landed.
“Burke!” she cried through cracked lips.
He rushed to her, cradling her face tenderly and then giving her a soft, sweet kiss.
“Are you all right?”
“I managed to get the gag off and my feet free.” Holding up her wrists, she frowned. “The rope has proven much harder.”
He slipped a knife from his boot and sliced through it, massaging her wrists as she sucked in a breath.
“Stings like the devil, doesn’t it,” he said lightly, continuing to rub the satin skin.
“Have you arrested them?” she asked.
“All but your father.”
Her eyes darkened. “That monster is not my father. He never acted like one. Lord C was the father of my heart.”
