by Olivia Drake
Then he stepped hastily through the rubbish-strewn back yard. Cutthroats and criminals roamed this district. Hearing a scrabbling noise, he nearly leaped out of his skin. But it was only a rat scuttling through the shadows.
Maybe he oughtn’t have run from the ball. Maybe he should’ve brazened it out. But it was futile to imagine he could withstand Clayton’s interrogation. Richard’s bowels turned watery at the very thought of his cousin’s wrath.
All was not lost, he reminded himself. If the duke wanted the boy back, he’d have to comply with the directives in the ransom note. Richard had intended to use the ransom to pay back the moneylender, but all that had changed now. With his pockets flush with banknotes, he would hightail it out of town, perhaps hide out in Scotland or Portugal or some other godforsaken place where Clayton couldn’t track him. He’d stay away until the heat died down and his mother could smooth things over for him.
The back door opened at a push of his hand. Entering a murky passage that stank of cabbage and other foul odors, he headed toward the glow of light at the front of the house. There, he suffered another shock.
The hulking groom sat at the table playing cards with the boy. Leo’s midsection was bound to the chair, leaving his hands free. Bert tilted back his curly black-haired head as he took a long pull on a blue gin bottle, which explained why he hadn’t even heard the approach of an intruder.
Richard slapped the black mask over his face and tied it behind his head. “What the devil’s going on here?”
Spewing a mouthful of gin, Bert sprang up. He wiped his sleeve across his wet lips. “Wasn’t expecting ye till the mornin’, milord! Do they already know the lad’s gone? Did ye get the blunt early?”
“Don’t call me that.” Milord, for pity’s sake! Richard saw no need to have his identity irrefutably confirmed in front of the enfant terrible. “And yes, his absence has been noted. But the banks aren’t open at this hour.”
“Bah,” the groom said, sitting back down, his rough features etched with discontent. “The duke must have a heap o’ gold in his safe to pay the ransom.”
“What’s a ransom?” Leo asked.
“Be silent,” Richard snapped, tilting his head down to view his nephew’s inquisitive face through the eyeholes of the mask. “It’s no concern of yours.”
“You look like a robber in that mask, Uncle Wymark. I ’member you almost ran over me with your horse, but Mr. Duke saved me.”
Ice shot down Richard’s spine. There went his last slim hope of escaping recognition and spinning a tall tale to explain his abrupt departure from the ball. In the unlikely event he was caught, of course.
He tore off the useless mask and flung it away before scowling at the groom. “Why didn’t you keep him locked in the bedchamber as I told you?”
Bert shrugged. “The tyke said he weren’t sleepy. Don’t see how it matters if he’s upstairs or down, so long as he’s tied up. Besides, it’s mighty dull sittin’ here alone.”
“I was bored, too,” Leo piped up. “So Bert is teaching me to play loo.”
“Good God!” Richard growled, ignoring the boy. “I’m not paying you to play card games.”
“Ain’t paid me naught yet, and ye best not cheat me o’ my fair share.” Bert narrowed his eyes. “Even if the duke refuses to hand over the blunt.”
“He won’t dare,” Richard said, pacing restlessly. “I made it very clear in the note that the boy’s life hangs in the balance.”
“Mr. Duke will catch you. He’ll punch your face.” Leo swung a miniature fist in Richard’s direction. “Pow!”
Clayton would relish doing that, Richard thought with a lurch. Blister it, he mustn’t panic. He just needed a distraction to settle his nerves until he could collect his five thousand. Pulling up a chair, he snapped, “Deal me in.”
He reached for the gin bottle, fussily wiping it with his handkerchief before taking a swig. The rotgut burned down his throat and almost made him gag. Despite the liquid courage, however, the memory of his cousin’s furious expression continued to plague him.
As a precaution, Richard took out the small pistol from inside his coat and placed it on the table within easy reach. It paid to be careful, though there was really no cause for alarm. None at all.
Clayton couldn’t possibly find him here.
Chapter 27
Keeping an eye on Wymark as he parked his vehicle in an alley across the street, Hadrian swung off his mount and kept to the dense shadows beneath a tree. His instincts as to where the viscount would go had proven correct. Not home, where he could be easily caught, but straight to his ticket out of debt. Leo would have been stashed someplace cheap and reasonably close, in a neighborhood where the locals wouldn’t blink an eye at strange doings or even kidnapped boys. Since traffic had been relatively light at this late hour, it had taken only a few minutes before Hadrian had spotted the distinctive phaeton with its yellow wheels barreling east along Oxford Street, heading toward the slums of Seven Dials.
He quietly secured the reins to the spindly tree trunk and waited for Natalie to join him. The viscount might be fool enough not to realize when someone was tailing him, but not Hadrian. He’d glimpsed her behind him halfway here. It was hard to miss a lady riding ventre à terre with her filmy skirts fluttering in the breeze.
She dismounted a short distance away and walked the horse so as not to alert Wymark. His chest tightened to see her gliding like a slender wraith through moonlight and shadow, her elegant ballgown, elbow-length white gloves, and diamond jewelry looking incongruous against the decrepit brick tenements. As she tied her horse near his, he noted the lack of a saddle.
Despite his tension, he felt a twist of humor. “Bareback?”
“It’s how I rode as a girl,” she whispered. “Look, Wymark has gone into that house.”
“I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you to wait here.”
Natalie huffed at that. “Come, we must hurry.”
She laced her fingers with his and tugged him across the street. They moved in unison, with stealth and haste, aiming toward the one downstairs window where a light shone through a slit in the curtains. As it turned out, there was more than one slit, the dark fabric being tattered in several places and allowing them both to peek inside at the same time.
Her hand tightened on his. “Leo is tied to a chair,” she said in an anguished whisper. “And there’s that groom, the one who attacked me in the kitchen at Oak Knoll.”
Inside the parlor, Bert and the viscount appeared to be exchanging heated words. “Indeed,” Hadrian said tersely.
Shivering, Natalie rubbed her bare upper arms. “They won’t hurt Leo, will they?”
“No. Wymark needs that ransom money too badly.”
At least he hoped so, Hadrian thought grimly. He shrugged out of his coat and placed it around her shoulders to ward off the chill of the night air. He took up a stance behind her and folded her into his arms, bringing her back firmly against his chest. She settled naturally into his embrace, her gaze still riveted inside the shabby parlor. His attention was, too, though he couldn’t deny a peripheral awareness of her shapely form.
They watched as the two men continued to quarrel, Wymark pacing back and forth in an agitated manner before sitting down to play cards with them.
She sucked in a breath. “He has a pistol.”
“He’s merely placed it on the table,” Hadrian said to calm her. “He isn’t going to shoot anyone.”
“But we have to rescue Leo!”
He soothed her by stroking his fingertips over her silken cheek. “Patience, my dear. The scamp doesn’t look frightened, so it would be better to wait for the right opportunity. Let those two buffoons get a little foxed first. It will hamper their ability to fight back.” With effort, he forced himself to release her. “While they’re busy playing cards, I’ll take a quick look around back to find the best way inside. Stay right here, promise me?”
Natalie nodded, her gaze flashing briefly at
him in the gloom, reminding him of that riveting moment in the darkness of the nursery and the sound of her soft voice. I love you, Hadrian. I love you with all my heart and soul.
The memory made his chest ache. He’d never had the chance to respond to her because a moment later, they’d discovered Leo’s abduction. His gut still felt twisted in knots over her stunning declaration. But now was not the time to sort out the tangle of emotions inside him.
Taking an unsteady breath, he left to reconnoiter the perimeter of the house. It proved a somewhat treacherous business not to make any noise since the yard was a glorified rubbish heap. He made his way around back to quietly test the rear door, then returned to do the same to the front.
It was a relief to see Natalie still at her post. He’d been half afraid she would act impetuously, without a care for her own safety. She looked so appealing with his coat draped around her shoulders that he took up his original position behind her, sliding his arms around her again.
“We’re in luck,” he muttered in her ear, breathing the fragrance of her hair. “The locks on both doors are broken, so entry won’t be a problem. The wisest course of action is to separate the two men, so I can take them down one at a time.”
“We’ll have to create a distraction.”
“Precisely. When the time is right, you’ll knock on the back door. Bert will go to answer it, but you’ll have ducked around the side of the house by then and hidden yourself. Meanwhile, I’ll slip through the front, grab Wymark’s gun, and subdue him. Then I’ll deal with Bert when he returns.”
“I’m coming in with you.”
“No,” he said in a sharp whisper. The very thought shook him to the core. “I don’t want you in harm’s way.”
“Someone will have to free Leo. He could be hurt during a fight.”
She had a point about that, but it wrenched him to think of her risking injury. “I’ll move him and his chair to the corner of the room.”
“You may not have an opportunity. I’m not helpless, Hadrian. Have you forgotten that I killed a man during that massacre?”
His arms tightened on her. For as long as he lived, he would never forget her wild bout of weeping in the kitchen at Oak Knoll, or later in the library, when she’d trembled while relating the violent experience to him. Gruffly, he said, “That’s precisely why I don’t want you endangering yourself again.”
“I can protect myself.” She reached into her bodice and withdrew a metallic blade that glittered in the moonlight. “Besides, the least I can do is to cut Leo’s bonds.”
The sight jolted him. “Where the devil did you get that knife?”
“From your groom,” she said, tucking it back into its sheath. “So I’ll hear no more about me hiding while our little boy is threatened.”
Hadrian was torn between railing at her and admiring her pluck. He settled for rubbing his cheek against her hair while he held her close. He especially liked the way she referred to Leo as theirs, as if they were a family. “All right, then, but take care. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
He felt her quiver slightly, but didn’t think it had anything to do with the cold night air. She tilted back her head and brushed a tender kiss to his jaw. “Nor I, you.”
I love you with all my heart and soul.
How he ached to hear her speak those words again. But he mustn’t expect her to repeat them. Not when earlier in his study, he’d been flummoxed by her question. Do you love me?
In that moment, he had felt utterly stupefied as if a wall barricaded his emotions even from himself. Everything in him had resisted examining the question. He’d always dismissed love as a soppy sentiment out of the pages of the gothic novels his mother liked to read. In his youth, he’d had only Lord and Lady Godwin’s cold union as a model. Love was never anything he’d believed to be important in a marriage.
But now he wondered.
His passion for Natalie burned like an eternal flame. She had the candor, wit, and warmth he’d never known he needed in a wife. She stirred in him a profound yearning that absorbed his dreams both day and night. Without her, his future would be stark, for she possessed him, heart and soul.
He dragged in a shaky breath. By God, he did love Natalie. There could be no other explanation for this fierce devotion he felt. The unique nature of his feelings was not mawkish, but rather, a deep sense of certainty that she was his other half, that he could never be complete without her in his life. She deserved to know that. He wanted her to know.
Would it be enough to convince her to marry him, though? To give up her life in America? To overcome her distaste for the aristocracy? There was only one way to find out.
Beset by tenderness, he bent closer. “Natalie, I must tell you—”
“Oh no, look! Leo has the pistol!”
* * *
For the first time in his misbegotten life, Richard found himself staring down the circular barrel of a gun. He’d never had a taste for the danger and duels that attracted other gentlemen. Now, he sat frozen in his chair, still clutching his cards, while the enfant terrible pointed the pistol at him.
How the devil had the boy grabbed it so quickly?
He slid a panicked glance at Bert, who looked bleary-eyed from drink. “Don’t just sit there,” he hissed, “do something. Controlling him is supposed to be your job.”
“Now, little fella, that ain’t a toy.” The groom slowly reached out a meaty paw. “Give it over to yer uncle Bertie.”
“He’s my uncle, not you.” Leo pointed the loaded pistol from one man to the other. “I want to go home to Miss Fanshawe and Mr. Duke. Right now.”
“Stop waving that thing around,” Richard said, trying to inject command into his voice while ignoring his clenched innards. “You don’t know how to use a gun. It could go off by accident!”
“My papa taught me how to shoot when we lived in the woods. I even killed a squirrel once.” Leo cocked the pistol. “Bang!”
Gulping, Richard slid down in his chair. At this close range, the boy couldn’t miss. The thought made him dizzy, or perhaps that was the effects of the gin. “Rush him, Bert. He’s only six. What else am I paying you for?”
“Six or sixty, don’t matter. It’s still a bullet. Besides, I ain’t got even a ha’penny from ye.”
“You’ll get your blasted money tomorrow—”
A voice spoke from the doorway. “No he won’t. Nor will you, Wymark.”
Richard leaped up so fast he nearly jumped out of his skin. His cards went flying, and his chair crashed to the floor. He stared in sick disbelief at the Duke of Clayton, who stood eyeing him with a menacing scowl.
He held a pistol that was pointed straight at Richard’s heart.
His knees actually knocked together. Unlike that six-year-old demon, Clayton had a reputation as a crack shot. “D-don’t shoot!”
“Then don’t tempt me, either of you two felons. If, that is, you wish to live long enough to stand before the magistrate.”
The magistrate. It struck Richard that he was ruined. Not even his mother could fix this mess, and without her help, he’d never be able to count on his father. Clayton would see to it that Richard was punished for his crime. And if he somehow managed to escape being tossed in a dank prison cell, he’d be shunned from society, barred from all the clubs, abandoned by his friends. Worse, he couldn’t repay the moneylender now. Which meant that if he remained in London, he’d be beaten to within an inch of his life.
All bright eyes and smiles, Leo shouted, “Mr. Duke! I knew you’d come!”
“You’ve been very brave, brat,” Clayton said, his face softening briefly. “Now, give the gun to Miss Fanshawe.”
Richard had been so focused on the duke that he hadn’t even noticed the American. She walked forward, cool as a queen, affording Richard a look of utter contempt. All of his dread and fear and despair coalesced into an intense resentment. How dare she act superior to him. She, the daughter of a bastard! None of this would have happened if she hadn�
�t brought Audrey’s whelp here to England.
To add insult to injury, Clayton had hosted a ball tonight to honor Miss Fanshawe, courting her instead of Richard’s own sister, thereby cheating him out of having a wealthy brother-in-law who might have bailed him out of debt.
Bert lumbered to his feet. “’Twas milord’s plan, Yer Grace. I took fine care o’ the lad. We just been playin’ cards.”
When the duke’s stern gaze flicked to the traitorous groom, Richard saw his chance. He lunged at Miss Fanshawe just as she approached the boy. He seized the pistol with one hand and her with the other, spinning her around so that her back slammed into his chest.
She uttered a choked gasp and squirmed against his hold. But Richard had a death grip around her middle. Panting, he pressed the barrel of the gun to her throat. “Be still!”
Luckily, she obeyed, only her bosom heaving. His heart was thudding so fast he felt faint. Desperation threatened to cloud his thinking. He reminded himself he had no other choice, and only this one chance to escape.
The duke took a step toward him and stopped. Horror widened his eyes before those gray orbs turned to granite. When he spoke, his voice had a hard, mocking edge. “Using a woman as a shield, Wymark? How brave of you.”
“Don’t come closer or she’s dead.”
“And then you’re dead. I’ll break your neck.”
At that ferocious vow, Richard imagined the crack of his bones and felt the prickle of cold sweat. For an instant, he considered using the single bullet on himself rather than face his cousin’s wrath. His death would be quicker and less painful. But there’d be no need for bloodshed if everyone cooperated.
“Don’t hurt Miss Fanshawe,” Leo yelled, wiggling against his bonds.
“Hush, darling,” she said with surprising calm. “Everything will be fine.”
Her composure irked Richard. She’d always acted high-and-mighty, as if she were the equal of him and his family. It also annoyed him that she stood an inch or two taller than himself, an unnatural Amazon of a female. But at least she was slack, making no move to fight him.
