by Shana Galen
“My husband will kill you for this,” she said.
He shrugged. “I am not so easy to kill. And if he tries, I have every right to defend myself. Perhaps I will kill both of you before the Season is over. Although, if you prove especially entertaining, we may keep you for a while.” He smiled again, his eyes going dark with what she assumed was anticipation of pleasure. Daphne lunged for the wine bottle, grasped it with her bound hands and threw it, barely missing Battersea’s head. It crashed against the wall behind him, red wine running down the tattered hanging papers.
Battersea stared at the wine and then rounded on her. “Look what you’ve done.” His hand flashed and she felt the hot slap across her cheek. She sat stunned for a moment as he walked to the broken bottle and began to pick up the pieces. “No gratitude,” he muttered.
Daphne blinked and forced herself to concentrate. She ignored the pain in her face and moved slowly, lifting the drugged wine and changing its place with the clean glass. Her gaze fastened on Battersea while he worked, but he didn’t look back at her. When he finally did, she was sitting back, looking as though she hadn’t moved. He tossed the broken glass in the rubbish bin then went to the table and drank from the glass with drugged wine, his work having made him thirsty. Daphne had to fight not to smile. That was until he set the glass down.
She held her breath, afraid he would taste whatever it was he had put in the wine and know what she’d done. Instead, he lifted the clean glass and stepped toward her. “But you haven’t been drinking,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “Time to have a drink.”
“I don’t want a drink,” she said, afraid if she gave in too easily, he would suspect.
“Come now, Lady Daphne. Don’t make me force this down your throat. I want no more violent outbursts from you. Have a sip. It will calm you.” He offered the cup, bringing it to her mouth. She allowed him to pour a measure into her mouth and watched him smile in triumph. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Now another.” She opened her mouth again, and he poured more down her throat.
He reached for his own glass, careful not to mix the two, and sipped again. Daphne watched him intently. How long would it take for the drug to have an effect?
“Isn’t this nice?” he said. He sipped his wine again then sat in the chair opposite her.
“Give me my glass,” she said. “I’ll drink it.”
His brows rose with suspicion. “How do I know you won’t throw it across the room?”
“To what end?” she said, trying to sound defeated. “You’ve already given me half. I feel myself drifting already.” She had no idea if that was the effect of the drug, but it was as good a guess as any.
He pushed her glass across the table, and she took it between her hands, bound at the wrist.
“A toast,” he said, lifting his glass. She lifted her own. “To tonight.” He clinked their glasses together and drank. She drank as well, watching him over the rim of her glass. His eyes closed briefly then opened again. His brows seemed to lower as if in question, but before he could wonder at his sudden tiredness, she yawned.
“I need to lie down,” she said. “I’m so weary.”
“I’ll take you to the bed.” He rose, stumbled, and shook his head to clear it.
Daphne still said nothing, but now Battersea lifted his glass and sniffed it. He had only a little wine left at the bottom, and he stared at it. Then his dark eyes rose to hers. “What have you done?” he asked.
She widened her eyes in innocence. “Me?”
“What have you—?” He sat quite suddenly on the floor, tried to rise, and toppled over. This was her chance. Daphne rose and grasped the lantern. Where was the door that would lead out of this place? She ran toward the door, narrowly avoiding Battersea’s hand when he reached out to grasp her ankle.
“What have you done?” he called, his words slurred.
Daphne yanked the door open and ran into a dark corridor. At the end of it was a steep staircase. This was the way she’d come up. She remembered stumbling over her skirts as he’d pushed her up and up. Now, she ran down the steps, opened the door at the bottom, then paused to peer out. What if Battersea’s coachman waited for his master outside?
But there was no coach outside. Nothing and no one except darkness and a low rolling fog.
She stepped out of the house and onto the street. And then she began to run.
Twenty
Colin had railed at every single one of Battersea’s servants until some of the maids were weeping and a few of the male servants looked ready for a fight. “Where is she?” he demanded for what might have been the fiftieth time that evening. “Where?”
“Sir,” Battersea’s butler said, his voice calm and ingratiating. “As we have told you, we do not know. His Lordship went to the theater. There is no lady here.”
“He has her,” Colin said, marching past the servants who’d lined up to stare at him. “Tell me where she is.”
“FitzRoy,” came a voice from the doorway. Colin spun to see Jasper standing there. Several women gasped at his masked face and dark clothing. “He wouldn’t bring her here. We’re wasting time.”
“Where is she then?” Harley demanded, coming up behind Jasper. “We don’t ‘ave no clues save ‘er poor bow.”
Jasper cut the girl a glance and then addressed the staff again. “We’re sorry to trouble you. FitzRoy, with me.”
Colin didn’t want to leave. He wanted answers, but he also knew when he had lost. Daphne wasn’t at Battersea’s town house, and if the servants knew where she was, they weren’t saying. He followed Jasper out of the town house and stood on the front walk beside him. Behind them, the butler closed the door and locked it.
“Where’s my horse? I need to go after her.”
Jasper grasped his shoulder. “Riding off without a destination in mind will only waste time.”
“He has her, Jasper!”
“I know,” Jasper said quietly. “But you must allow me to handle this. You are too emotionally involved to think clearly.”
Colin blinked at him. He had never been accused of being emotionally involved in anything before. But Jasper was right. His mind was completely scrambled. He was being led by his emotions, and that wouldn’t help Daphne. And he had to find her. He couldn’t lose her now. Not when he’d finally accepted that he loved her.
“We will find her,” Jasper said, his tone reassuring. “We just need to make a few inquiries.”
“I can ‘elp with that,” Harley volunteered. “I’m good at making inquiries.” She said the word like ink-rees.
Jasper looked at Colin. “Who the devil is this? She followed me all the way here.”
“Just an urchin I thought to bring to Neil.”
“Oy! I ain’t just an urchin. I know things. After all, it were me the nob paid to trick you into leaving ‘Er Ladyship.”
Jasper put a hand on Colin’s shoulder just as he surged forward. “This might not be the best time to remind him of that,” Jasper told Harley. “Still, you might prove helpful.”
“How?” Colin asked.
“Where did Battersea approach you?” Jasper asked Harley.
“Wot’s that mean?”
“Where did he talk to you about tricking my friend?”
“Oh, that were outside The Clipper. See, the nob ‘ad ‘is man watching that one”—he pointed to Colin—“and ‘Er Ladyship. Following them about and reporting back.”
Colin would have grabbed Harley and shook her if Jasper hadn’t still been holding his shoulder. “Steady,” Jasper said.
“It might have been helpful to mention something of this before,” Colin said through clenched teeth.
“You didn’t ask me before.”
Colin took a calming breath. “I don’t see how we can trust her.”
“Oy! You can trust me. I didn’t know ‘Er Ladyship before. I want to ‘elp ‘er now.”
“Better late than never,” Jasper muttered. “But that doesn’t help us discover where th
e earl might have taken Lady Daphne.”
“Maybe ‘e knows,” Harley said, pointing to the corner of Battersea’s town house.
“Who?” Colin asked, seeing no one.
“I saw him,” Jasper said. “I think he wants us to follow him away from the eyes of those in the house.”
“Who?” Colin asked again. But he followed Jasper along the gate and around the corner.
“Him.” Jasper pointed to a liveried servant who beckoned them further along the lane until the row of town houses obscured Battersea’s.
“Well?” Jasper asked when the servant paused. The lad was young, probably no older than sixteen, and Colin’s hopes fell. He doubted this servant had the seniority to know anything of importance in Battersea’s household.
“You can’t tell anyone I spoke to you,” the servant said in a hushed voice.
“Do we look like we’re snitches?” Harley demanded, her hands perched indignantly on her hips.
The servant gave her a wary glance. “I’m talking to the gentlemen, not you, scamp.”
“Oy! I ain’t no scamp!” Harley demanded.
“Cease your racket or I will cease it for you,” Colin snapped. Harley closed her mouth.
“I couldn’t say anything in front of Rudolph,” the lad said, his voice still low. “He’s loyal to the earl, but I’ve seen some things I don’t like. I’m looking for other employment. I haven’t secured it yet, so I don’t want to be seen talking to you.”
Jasper nodded. “If what you say proves helpful, I’ll make sure you receive an excellent reference. What’s your name?”
“Jeremy Donnelly, my lord.”
“Mr. Donnelly, do you mind telling us what you saw?” Colin asked.
Jeremy glanced toward Battersea’s town house again. “Comings and goings I didn’t like. A few of the maids were ill-used. I’ve seen that before. But there were one time...” He trailed off.
“Go ahead.”
Jeremy dragged his eyes from the direction of the town house. “You said you were looking for a lady. I promise you she’s not at the town house. The earl doesn’t bring them to his residence anymore. At first, we thought maybe he’d reformed himself, but then Oliver—he’s Battersea’s tiger—told us about a house the earl keeps. It’s in St. Giles. Oliver was on duty when the earl told the coachman to take him there. Oliver watched him go inside and then the coachman told him he could go get a pint because it would be awhile.” Jeremy looked over his shoulder.
“Go on,” Jasper said.
“There’s a pub nearby. It’s called the White Hart or the White Stag. I can’t remember. The coachman went there, but Oliver waited by the coach. He didn’t like to leave the horses. And he said...” He lowered his voice so much that Colin had to lean in to hear. He was so close to the lad he could smell the starch of his livery and the lad’s fear. “He said he heard a woman crying and pleading. When Battersea came out later, he didn’t bring her with him, but he told the coachman to send someone to clean it up. That’s what Oliver told me he said—send someone to clean it up.”
“That’s it,” Colin said. “Let’s go.”
Jasper held up a hand.
“Anything else we should know?”
“Just be careful. Oliver told a few of us what he saw and said he was going to tell the magistrate. I never saw Oliver again.”
“Thank you,” Jasper said. “We’ll see your bravery in this matter is rewarded.” He turned on his heel and walked back to his horse, Colin right behind him with Harley running to keep up.
“Do you know the place?” Colin asked Harley as he mounted his horse.
“I know the White ‘art. It’s a bad area.”
Colin blanched. If Harley thought it was a bad area, then it was no place for Daphne. “Do you think you’ll know the house?”
“I ‘ave friends out that way. They’ll know.”
“Take her with us,” Jasper said, turning his horse toward St. Giles. Reluctantly, Colin held his hand down to Harley.
“You want me to get on that beast?” The girl shook her head. “I’ll find me own way.”
“Suit yourself.” Colin had no more time to waste. He followed Jasper into the rapidly falling dusk.
DAPHNE RAN TOWARD PEOPLE, lights, and sound. She heard voices further up the street and headed that way. But she didn’t take heed of the people she passed. Children called out to her and women in doorways eyed her with hollow eyes. Daphne ran past them all. It was rapidly growing dark, and the women and children would retreat inside. That left the men, and she could feel their eyes crawl along her body as she ran past.
Up ahead she saw the lights of a pub. She couldn’t see the name, but she could smell the scents of ale and wine and hear the sound of men’s voices. Surely someone there would help her. She put her head down and forced herself to hurry, not to look back to see if Battersea was following. She ran headlong into a large figure, only checking her stride when she had all but slammed into him. He caught her about her arms, and she looked up into the face of a man close to her own age but with eyes that seemed much older.
“Well, what ‘ave we ‘ere, lads?”
“Release me.”
“Oh, did you ‘ear that me fellows? ‘Er Majesty said, release me.” He mimicked her voice, making her sound young and silly.
Daphne struggled out of his grip. “Move out of my way.” But she could see now it would not be so easy. The man was not alone. He had three friends with him, and they all looked at her as though they were starving and she a four-course meal. “I said, move out of my way,” she said, her brain frantically trying to come up with a way out of this mess.
“These are our streets,” the leader—the man she’d bumped into and who stood far too close for comfort—told her. “I think we’d better ‘elp you find yer way. Right lads?”
He looked down at her and smiled, his teeth yellow and brown. She could smell him, no matter how shallowly she tried to breathe. He smelled of garlic and the stench of unwashed bodies.
Daphne took a step back and immediately realized her mistake. Retreat would invite pursuit. And these men wanted nothing more than a lively chase. “If you touch me, you will regret it,” she warned.
“Ooh. I’m trembling in me boots,” one of the other men said, and they all laughed.
Daphne turned and ran. If it was a mistake, so be it. She had no other choices. She heard the laughter close behind her as the men chased her. The street, which had been full of people mere minutes before, was now all but empty. She heard the distant sound of hoofbeats, the horse and cart’s progress obscured by the quickly falling darkness, and wondered if she could cross the street before it ran her over. If she could time it right, then the men would have to wait for it to pass before pursuing her. Daphne took her chance, running into the street when she saw the outline of a horse. The beast reared up and she ducked her head, hoping the blow was swift and painless.
But no blow came, and she heard her name called. Strong arms grabbed her, and she fought them. Those men had caught her after all.
“Daphne, it’s me. I have you.”
She opened her eyes. Colin was before her, and coming up right behind him, leading another horse by the halter, was the masked Lord Jasper.
“Colin,” she sobbed. “I have to run.”
Colin grasped her face in his hands. “If you’re worried about that group of ruffians, they’ve tucked tail and run. For the moment.”
Daphne’s legs gave way and she sank against Colin who lifted her into his arms and cradled her close.
“Where are you hurt? What did he do to you?”
“I’m not hurt,” she sobbed. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
He carried her to the side of the street, set her down, removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders. “You’re in shock.” He pulled her close. “You’re shivering and your skin is like ice.”
“You’re shivering too,” she said, her teeth chattering. She couldn’t seem to get close
enough to him. She wanted to bury her nose in his chest and inhale his scent. She never wanted his arms to release her.
“I’m in shock as well. I thought—” His voice broke, and Daphne looked up at his face in alarm. His expression was one of anguish and fear. She’d never seen so much emotion on his face before.
“I’m not hurt,” she reassured him, forgetting about herself.
“I almost lost you.”
“No.” She cupped his face with her hands. “You’ll never lose me.”
“I’ve been such an idiot, Daphne. I didn’t want to tell you I loved you.” He closed his eyes. “Even now my chest hurts when I think it, when I say it. All these years I’ve been afraid to feel the way I felt when I lost my mother. And then when I started to have feelings for you, I was afraid you’d think me silly or lovestruck.”
Daphne’s ears were ringing with his words. She wasn’t entirely certain she was awake at this moment. But this couldn’t be a dream. In a dream, she wouldn’t be sitting on a dirty stoop in the rookeries, shaking with cold while Colin confessed his love for her. “You love me?” she asked.
“I love you,” he said, his voice catching slightly.
Daphne threaded her hands into his hair, wanting this to be real. Wanting this moment to never end.
“I think I loved you the first time I saw you in one of your ridiculous pink gowns with thirty-seven bows.”
She laughed, the sound a bit hysterical as tears sprang to her eyes.
He cupped her cheek. “I think I fell in love with you when you told me you were on your way to St. James to gamble. It was the most outrageous idea I had ever heard, but you made me believe you could do it.”
“It was a foolish idea. Thank God you talked me out of it.”
He kissed the tear on her cheek and murmured, “I know I fell in love when you first kissed me.”
“I still have you beat.” She smiled up at him. “I fell in love with you years ago.”
“I told you I’m an idiot. All this time I didn’t want to love you because I was afraid I’d lose you. But tonight I realized I could lose you anyway and then you’d never know how I felt. And we’d never have this”—he kissed her lightly—“time together.”
