The Awakening of Lord Ambrose (The Lost Lords Book 6)

by Chasity Bowlin

  As he neared their chamber door, it became quite apparent that she had, in fact, seen everything. The door opened as soon as his feet halted in front of it. Primrose was wide eyed and frantic.

  “Are you hurt? What did they want?”

  “I imagine they wanted whatever coin I had on my person,” he replied. There was no need to tell her what they had suggested about her. Such things were unfit for her ears and he did not wish to bring up ugly doubts or memories for her.

  “That’s all? You talked to them for that long when they wanted to rob you?”

  He shook his head. “They didn’t demand money immediately. They used that short conversation to take my measure and determine whether or not I would be an easy target. Clearly, I would not, and so they left. But we will not push our luck. They may have friends or, more accurately, accomplices waiting to join them. The driver will be here in just under an hour. We’ll go below, get something to eat, have something prepared for the journey ahead and be off. I don’t want to linger here any longer than necessary.”

  It was very possible that those men would return and with reinforcements. His simple armaments would hardly deter them in greater numbers.

  Taking Prim’s arm, they descended to the hotel’s public rooms to break their fast and start the second leg of their journey.

  *

  Kitty was pressed against the squabs of the carriage as it barreled down the road. They were going at a reckless pace and the horses hadn’t been changed for the last two hours. There was no way they could continue at such a pace.

  “We have to stop,” she said.

  “I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” Samford said, his hand draped over his eyes as he suffered through the worst of the aftereffects of his drinking from the night before.

  “Exhausted horses cause accidents. Perhaps your own life holds no value for you, but I certainly value mine!” Kitty snapped.

  “We’ll change horses at Stoke-on-Trent and not before.”

  “Walsall is but a mile or so ahead,” she said. “It’s a bustling town and no one will pay attention to two people passing through!”

  “Run to Gretna Green many times, have you?”

  Her grandmother had summered at an estate near Carlisle. She’d traveled that road often, but felt no need to share such information with him. He had no interest in it anyway, or in her for that matter. Recalling the rumors of his first wife’s death, Kitty had to wonder if a similar fate would befall her.

  “We need to stop soon. Or it will not go well for either of us,” she said simply.

  “Stoke-on-Trent. No sooner,” he reiterated, clearly at the end of his patience. “I’ve burned too many bridges in Walsall, and Birmingham for that matter. Had a bit of bad luck in a card game there and I’m in deep to the cent percenters.”

  Of course, she thought. It would be something like that. Clasping her hands in her lap, Kitty touched the hilt of the knife tucked into the sleeve of her spencer. It wasn’t that she was bloodthirsty or felt inspired to violence, but she wouldn’t be a weak and easy victim for him either. If an opportunity came, she would use it.

  “I find that not surprising at all,” she said. “Burning bridges seems to be something you are quite adept at, Lord Samford.”

  “Can you not just cower quietly in the corner?” he asked. His irritation with her was obvious. “Do I actually have to strike you to get you to be quiet?”

  Arching an eyebrow imperiously, she suggested, “You could set me out here if I am too much of a burden… find some other women to marry who is too blinded by your charms to see the hideousness underneath.”

  “Shut up. If I set you down here, I’ll wring your blasted neck before I do it and you’ll be nothing but a bloated corpse on the roadside for someone to stumble over.”

  Kitty turned her head to look out the window and ignore her captor. Her nerves were more rattled by his threats than she wanted to admit, certainly more so than she was willing to show to him. Any hint of weakness would be exploited by him. That was a certainty. The only other certainty she had at that moment was that no one was coming to rescue her. Her father would have happily sold her to him without a qualm of doubt just to be rid of her.

  If she was going to escape him, it would have to be on her own. And it would have to be in Stoke-on-Trent, if they managed to arrive there in one piece.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Another eight hours on the road, this time in a private carriage as opposed to the stage, and they had reached Stoke-on-Trent and their destination of The Old Crown Inn. They stopped at the stables and their driver made discreet inquiries for them as to whether or not Samford and Miss Wyverne had arrived.

  Prim was waiting in the carriage while Cornelius conversed with them. She was curious to know what he’d discovered. As he turned to walk back to her, his expression was dark.

  “Have they passed already?” Prim asked.

  “No. They have not yet arrived, unless perhaps they’ve taken an alternate route. As our paths have not yet crossed and we’ve seen a limited number of likely vehicles on the road, I’m beginning to wonder if that is not the case. If, by chance, he took her from Bath to the coast and they sailed to Scotland… she is already lost.”

  “He didn’t. He wouldn’t have taken the chance of either the captain or a crew member intervening on her behalf,” Prim said. “He’d need privacy if she is an unwilling bride. And a lack of witnesses.”

  Cornelius nodded. “Let us hope that is the case. I think for now, we need to wait them out. If they are taking this route to Gretna Green, they should pass through here this morning. I’ve made arrangements with the lads at this stable and they will pass the word to the others in town to notify us if they should arrive.”

  “So we simply wait?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But not in the open. We’ll sequester ourselves inside the inn, well out of sight. We won’t take a room upstairs so that we can move quickly if need be. But we’ll get a private dining room where we will have full view of the street and the stables.”

  “Will you be able to recognize Miss Wyverne?” Prim asked. She knew Lord Samford’s face, though they had only met the one time. But Miss Wyverne was unknown to her.

  “I know her well enough to recognize her. She has dark hair and has a mild but distinctive limp and uses a walking stick. I suspect it was that infirmity that prompted Samford to begin courting her. Given the rumors that surrounded his wife’s passing and the other scandals that have swirled around his family, he was likely looking for someone he thought would be grateful for the attention.”

  Prim frowned. “Do you really think she should have been grateful?”

  “Not I. On the occasions where I met Miss Wyverne, she was pleasant and attractive, but I was not drawn to her. I strongly suspect that she was equally unmoved by me. Samford needs money, and she possesses it in abundance. He’s also quite convinced of his own importance, Prim. The man is puffed up like no one else and, whether it’s true or not, would have viewed her as being beneath him. Not because it’s true but because that’s who he is.”

  Mollified by that explanation, she walked side by side with him as they moved toward the inn. It was smaller than the George Hotel had been in Walsall, but it was also older and not nearly as well maintained. Still, they were ushered into a small private room that faced the street and gave them a clear view of the stables.

  One of the serving girls followed them in and then went scurrying off to get the tea and food he requested. She returned momentarily with a laden tray and deposited it before him. Prim watched as Cornelius handed the servant a coin that was likely equal to several months’ pay for the girl.

  “We shall be here for some time, but it’s imperative that news of our presence here is handled with the utmost discretion,” he said.

  “Mr. Findley, the innkeeper, is gone to Manchester for the day and won’t return until tomorrow. There’s no one to know that you’re here, my lord,” she said.
r />   “If we can keep it that way, there’ll be another sovereign for you,” Cornelius told her.

  The girl bobbed a curtsy and then disappeared. When she was gone, Prim said, “You do realize that is a fortune to a girl like her.” And a girl like me, she thought.

  “It is an easy enough thing to be generous,” he said.

  “It really means nothing to you does it? Money has no worth to you,” she mused. Would she ever grow used to living a life of abundance rather than penury?

  “I am not immune to its influence, Prim. I carefully consider every investment I make and try to ensure that they will be as profitable as possible. It’s because I take care with those investments that I can afford to be generous. Does it really bother you that much?”

  Bothered wasn’t the word. It made her uncomfortable to be in the presence of such largesse, especially since only weeks earlier she would have been scrambling to earn a sovereign that would mean the difference between having meat for the week to feed her family and coal to keep them warm or going without. He had changed everything about their lives and he was continuing to change hers. Day by day, hour by hour and minute by minute, she was altering slightly. But not negatively. Instead, she was releasing the fears that her life to that point had hammered into her. Because she felt safe with him, she realized. Even when his very presence pushed her boundaries and made her reevaluate everything she thought she’d known, she felt freer than before, able to let herself fall. But first, Miss Wyverne had to be saved and Samford had to be stopped.

  As if her thoughts had summoned him, Prim’s eye was drawn to a movement outside. Samford was crossing the street, dragging a young woman by the hand in his wake. It was clear that she was struggling to keep up.

  “Cornelius!”

  He turned to look, as well. But no sooner than they had both laid eyes upon them than a bell rang out signaling that the charity line at the church should begin to queue. People began to emerge from alleyways and buildings, making a beeline for the church where a hot meal would be served.

  Miss Wyverne and Samford drifted in and out of sight as the charity seekers blocked their view. But then the crowd parted to reveal Miss Wyverne raising her walking stick high. She struck out with it, bringing it down over Samford’s temple with significant force. With a violent movement, she pulled free from his grasping hands and fled.

  Cornelius rose from the table and hurried outside and Prim was left to scurry after him. By the time they reached the street, Samford was gone, pursuing Miss Wyverne as she fled into a throng of workers who were just leaving the shops. They disappeared down a warren of narrow streets lined with warehouses and workshops.

  “Where did they go?” Prim asked, her gaze scanning the faces in the crowded street.

  “I don’t know,” Cornelius admitted. “Go back to the inn and wait for me. I’ll look for them.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll ask people if they’ve seen them.”

  “I can help.”

  “It’s dangerous, Prim. He’s dangerous. Please!”

  “I’m going with you,” she said. “You may not realize it, Cornelius, but I have more in common with these people milling about than you do. Of the two of us, whose questions would be more likely to be answered?”

  *

  She had a point. He didn’t much care for it, but he couldn’t deny the accuracy of it. “I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it either. He’ll be angry. And if he senses we are in pursuit, he’ll be dangerous to her,” she replied.

  Cornelius turned to head toward the line of people waiting outside the church. Prim was right. The only thing in their favor at that moment was that Samford remained ignorant of their presence. He was chasing Miss Wyverne while they, in turn, chased him.

  They approached a young woman holding a small child in her arms. Prim spoke first. “There was a young woman who ran through here moments ago, with a limp… and there would have been a man chasing her. We need to help this woman. Can you tell us which way they went?”

  “Why should I? No one helps me, do they?” the woman replied.

  “We’ll help you.”

  “A few pence, a shilling? It’ll just be taken from me.”

  “What of a job?” Cornelius asked. “What if I offered to take you on at my estate as a housemaid and offered a place for you and your child there.”

  “No toff employs a housemaid with a child.”

  “I will,” he promised. “I have a very unconventional household. Growing more unconventional on a daily basis.”

  Prim could have laughed at that. It was true. And he didn’t seem to mind in the least. “He does. He married me and I’m as common as they come. Let us help you and help us to help this poor girl.”

  “He went down that alley yon. I never saw her, but I did see him,” the girl said. “Now, where’s this estate?”

  “For now, you will go to my house in London. 217 Curzon Street. You will speak to my aunt, Lady Arabella, and she will get you settled into your new duties,” Cornelius said. Discreetly, he passed the woman a sovereign. It would be enough to pay passage for her and her child to London and to buy food for them for the journey. “Tell her you assisted us in our search for Miss Wyverne. That will assure her of our agreement.”

  “Miss Wyverne,” the girl repeated. “I will. Thank you, my lord.”

  They ducked down the alley the girl had indicated, but it was deserted save for stray cats. It appeared closed at the end but, as they neared it, it became apparent that it simply doglegged around the back of one building before opening up onto the mews of those buildings. With a half-dozen ways in and out, wagons, carts and carriages here and there, not to mentions stables and back entrances to businesses, the possibilities were endless.

  “They could be anywhere,” Prim said.

  “So they could,” Cornelius said, as he dropped to his haunches and touched a damp spot on the dark flagstone that marked the entrance to one of the buildings. His fingers came away red. “Apparently, Miss Wyverne drew first blood.”

  Realizing that Samford had left a trail for them to follow changed the nature of their search. It was no longer a question of randomly knocking on doors or asking passersby. They simply followed the blood.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Kitty was struggling to stay upright. Her leg pained her terribly, the muscles of her thigh knotting up and the puckered scar just above her knee burning with an intensity that almost took her back to the very day that she’d first been injured. The pain triggered memories of the horse’s hooves flashing above her, of her father shrieking at her for being such a terrible rider that he’d had to put the beast down. The truth was, she’d been too young, too small and too inexperienced a rider to ever be put atop a beast such as that one. But then, he’d never been one to let such trivial facts alter his narrative.

  Sweating profusely, gasping with pain, she knew she couldn’t go on. She also knew it was only a matter of time before Samford caught up to her. But she’d taken him down a peg or two, she thought proudly. Blood had welled from a cut across his forehead where she’d struck him with her cane. It would likely leave a scar and that thought she enjoyed very much.

  Easing into a narrow alley, Kitty spied the simple farm cart. The back was laden with barrels and crates, and all of it covered by a cloth. If she could hoist herself into the back of it, she might be able to disguise herself well enough amongst those parcels to get away.

  Carefully easing into the cart, she had just tucked herself behind a large crate when a door opened and a man emerged from one of the buildings. He was laughing with his companion, both of them speaking with a language that she couldn’t quite fathom. Was it Gaelic? If so, it was forbidden. Ducking further back into the cart, she tried to make no noise.

  “Where is she?”

  That grating demand had been uttered by Samford. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he’d just entered the mouth of the alley from the direction of his voice.r />
  “Is that you Hamilton?”

  “It is, Kelly. I see you’re still smuggling brandy. I suppose the excise man might be interested to know about that,” Samford said, finally stepping into view.

  “I see you’ve still not managed to pay me the money you owe. We had a deal, Hamilton, and you broke it.”

  “It’s Samford now,” he said. “Lord Samford… as a peer of the realm, what possible inducement could there be for me to pay a worthless gutter rat like you?”

  “I can think of one inducement,” the companion of the man he’d called Kelly said, his voice sneering and cold.

  The companion stepped forward, pistol in hand. The man Samford knew, the one called Kelly, stepped into the fray, trying to still his friend.

  “You can’t shoot me! You’d hang!” Samford insisted.

  “Won’t be the first thing I’ve done to send me to the noose,” the man replied, steadily.

  Samford lunged at the man with a gun. Then the three of them grappled over the pistol. The discharge in the small alley was deafening. The sound of it reverberated off the brick and stone. Somehow, Kitty managed to bite back the scream that burned in her throat. Instead, she pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth, her teeth biting into her own flesh until she’d drawn blood. It was either that or call attention to herself and possibly face the same fate as her abductor.

  “Jesus, William! Why’d you kill him?” Kelly demanded.

  “He needed killing,” the other man replied. “You know what he did… to Mara. And to Kathleen!”

  “I do know. And we’d have made him pay for it, but not here! Not now. Christ almighty, sometimes you’ve a head as thick as an oak!” The man turned then, facing her. He had a thick beard and his face was still largely concealed by the wide brim of his hat. But as he paced, she had the sense that he was young and fit. “Get back inside. Have Drake swear you never left the building when the watch comes asking questions. I’ve got to get back to Colleen or there’ll be hell to pay. Not a word of this to anyone. Do you understand, William? Not a word!”