Her lips still trembled from the heat of his kiss and her knees still threatened to buckle. And she was quite, quite certain that nothing would ever be well again.
* * *
Leaving Miss Stanholte’s town house, Luke ordered his groom to head for Lord Bidwell’s. He had received a message earlier from his friend, but nothing could distract him from calling upon Cassandra the moment he arose. Now he could only wonder at his own sanity.
Had he truly insisted that the small hellion become his fiancée?
It seemed impossible.
After all, he was a gentleman who devoted his time to avoiding the parson’s trap, not dragging unwilling, sharp-tongued chits to the nearest vicar. Still, when he had said the impetuous words last evening and his aunt had assumed he had been proposing, he had realized that he wanted nothing more than to claim Cassandra as his wife.
Perhaps he was losing what few senses he still possessed.
Leaning back in his seat, Luke closed his eyes. The sweet scent of violets clung to his clothing, sending a shiver of fierce need through this body. How he longed to drown himself in her innocence, to sweep her into his arms and tutor her in the delights of passion.
He wanted her to belong to him forever.
Unfortunately, the lady had made it painfully clear that she considered an engagement to him as enjoyable as being stricken by the plague. An odd predicament, considering he was once toasted as the most eligible gentleman in all of England.
The carriage rolled to a halt, and, still dwelling on his dark thoughts, Luke stepped out and hurried up the stairs and through the door held open by the waiting butler. Within moments, he was being led to an Egyptian-styled salon.
Leaning against the mantel, Biddles regarded his friend’s deep frown with an arched brow.
“Ah ... the happy bridegroom,” he drawled. “Welcome.”
Luke grimaced, only vaguely surprised that the gentleman had managed to discover the rumors of his engagement so swiftly.
“Hardly happy,” he retorted.
The brow arched even higher. “Egad, you are not having troubles already?”
“There has been nothing but troubles since Miss Stanholte so disobligingly tossed herself beneath my carriage.”
With a smooth movement, Biddles crossed to pour two glasses of brandy; then moving to Luke, he thrust one into his hand.
“You appear in need of reinforcement.”
Luke willingly accepted the brandy, for once not bothering to disguise his inner emotions.
“Why must she be so ... impossible?”
“Indeed,” Biddles murmured.
“There are any number of ladies who would be delighted at being engaged to the Earl of Mumford.”
“Certainly.”
Luke took a healthy gulp of the fiery spirit.
“And it is not as if she were completely indifferent to me,” he complained, recalling her trembling reaction to his kiss.
“Not.”
“So why will she not accept that I am simply doing what is best for her?”
Biddles gave an elegant shrug, his expression suspiciously bland.
“Ungrateful wench.”
“Precisely.”
“One would think she would appreciate having you thrust your way into her life, threaten her with exposure if she does not move into a home of your choosing, and then blackmail her into becoming your fiancée.”
Luke gave a startled blink at the sudden attack. Really, he had always considered Biddles his friend. He needn’t make it all sound so ... arrogant.
“Would she have preferred that I stand aside and allow her to be killed?”
Unrepentant, Biddles lifted his shrewd gaze to stab Luke with a piercing regard.
“Perhaps she would prefer not to be protected with such . . . enthusiasm.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Merely that Miss Stanholte is a woman of considerable spirit,” Biddles retorted in smooth tones. “She is bound to shy away from a rein held too tightly.”
Luke angrily opened his mouth to protest, only to have the angry words falter at the realization his friend was right.
He had always known that Cassandra was not a lady who could be bullied or forced into anything. She had been her own mistress for far too long. It was perhaps one of the things that he most admired about her. And yet, he had attempted to control and manipulate her since she had crashed into his life.
“Why does it all have to be so bloody complicated?” he growled in frustration.
“Love is always complicated.” Biddles lifted his glass in a mocking toast. “Which is why I prefer lust.”
“Love.”
The word was jerked from Luke with a faint sense of shock. He should be horrified by the accusation. Love was for fools. That was what he had always told himself. And even though he had known perhaps from the moment he had laid eyes upon Cassandra that he desired her, it was just within the past few days that he had accepted it as far more than mere desire.
Love.
Quite extraordinary.
“You have my fullest sympathy,” Biddles offered with an impish grin.
“Oddly enough, I have never been happier.” He gave a wry grimace. “Of course, I have never been so miserable either.”
Biddles set aside his glass. “What will you do?”
“What can I do?” Luke set aside his own glass and wearily ran a hand over the back of his neck. It had been far too long since he had enjoyed a peaceful night’s rest, let alone a day without one worry or another. And always in the back of his mind was the terrifying knowledge he would eventually lose Cassandra, either to the devious plot of the scar-faced gentleman or to the remote isolation of her Devonshire estate. “Even if I manage to force Miss Stanholte into marriage, she would only resent me.”
Biddles tilted his head to one side. “Have you considered telling her how you feel?”
Luke gave a dry laugh. “And frighten her even more?”
“As you said, she is not indifferent to you.”
“No.” A brief, searing image of Cassandra in his arms sent a flare of desire through his body. Good Lord, he was reacting like a mere greenhorn. A most discomforting sensation. With an effort, he firmly turned his thoughts to his reason for coming to the town house in the first place. “But first we must ensure she is safe. What have you discovered?”
With a decidedly smug smile, Biddles returned to his post beside the mantel.
“I happened to catch up with the delightful Nell last evening, and she confessed that she is deeply concerned about a friend who is in a decided quandary.”
“Indeed?” Luke narrowed his gaze. “And did you offer your assistance?”
Biddles pretended an interest in the cuff of his coat. “I assured her I could only be of help if I knew the full details.”
“But of course.” Luke refused to allow his hopes to be raised. He had been disappointed on too many occasions. “And what did she say?”
“She said that this friend had married a gentleman who claimed to be the illegitimate son of Lord Stanholte.”
“Lord Stanholte.” Luke sucked in a sharp breath. “Miss Stanholte’s father?”
“Grandfather,” Biddles corrected. “It seems that the older Lord Stanholte kept his mistress in a nearby cottage, and when she produced a son, he ensured that the boy received a small allowance from the estate and a proper education. He also sent both of them to London when he tired of the young lady. Unfortunately, when the old man died, the illegitimate son presented himself in Devonshire and demanded a share of the inheritance.” Biddles lifted his gaze. “Needless to say, the new lord promptly declined the gentleman’s request, and after a rather nasty fight, during which the chap received a cut to the face, he was sent on his way. He left swearing he would have his revenge.”
Luke abruptly released his breath. Although he had been quite certain the mysterious gentleman had a connection to the Stanholte family, he had not suspect
ed that it would be so close. He now realized why the man was so ruthlessly determined. This gentleman had clearly convinced himself that Stanholte Estate should be his.
“So, we now comprehend why he chose Miss Stanholte and how he knew about the missing uncle,” he murmured.
“What we do not know is how to find him,” Biddles pointed out.
Luke nodded. They were close, but not close enough.
“A few days ago I convinced Toby to lead me through the neighborhood where he claimed he had followed his employer,” Luke revealed. “Perhaps we should return for a closer inspection.”
“Ah, Toby.” Biddles smiled in a dangerous manner. “How is the little rat?”
Luke chuckled as he recalled his unwilling guest’s bitter reproaches.
“Sadly disappointed with his accommodations.”
“He should consider himself fortunate you found him before I did,” Biddles said. Before he could continue, there was the sound of raised voices and a loud crash. “What the devil?”
With a sense of shock, Luke turned just as the door was thrust open to reveal the leathered countenance of Cassandra’s groom.
Luke’s heart came to a complete halt as the man stepped forward.
“My lord,” the servant breathed, his uniform torn and in disarray. “You must come at once.”
Fifteen
Rushing into the room with a distinct lack of his usual composure, the butler performed a hasty bow.
“I am sorry, Lord Bidwell,” the servant apologized, turning to glare at the rattled groom. “This man slipped through the servants’ door before he could be halted.”
Biddles waved a dismissive hand. “Do not fear; we will see him.”
With another bow, the butler backed out of the room, clearly accustomed to his employer’s peculiar habits.
Luke paid no heed to anything but the lined face of Cassandra’s groom.
“What has occurred?” he demanded in rough tones.
“It is Miss Stanholte,” he breathed.
Luke’s heart clenched in agony. “Where is she? Has she been harmed?”
“I cannot say.” The groom twisted his battered hat in a nervous fashion, his eyes dark with concern. “We were on our way to Hatcher’s when a carriage pulled beside us. Before I could guess what was occurring, two villains pulled Miss Stanholte and Miss Stowe from our carriage and shoved them into the one beside us. I tried to follow, but they ran us from the road.” His voice broke with suppressed emotion. “Forgive me, my lord.”
Luke did not doubt for a moment this man had done everything in his power to save Miss Stanholte. Still, his fear was too powerful to protect this man’s pride.
“There is no time for that.” He abruptly turned to the silent Lord Bidwell. “Come, Biddles.”
The thin gentleman remained unflappable.
“Where are we headed?” he demanded with annoying logic. “We do not know where Miss Stanholte was being taken.”
Luke dampened his instinctive flare of anger, knowing his friend was simply attempting to keep a level head.
“We will begin with the theater and then move to the neighborhood beyond.”
Biddles ran a finger down the side of his long nose. “That could take hours.”
“I do not care if it will take days,” Luke snapped. “I will find her.”
Biddles smiled with dry humor. “I merely meant we will need help. You go ahead, and I will meet you as soon as I am able.”
“Very well.” Luke gave a decisive nod of his head, then returned his attention to the groom. “I want you to go to the theater. I will begin in the neighborhood.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Without waiting for any further discussion, Luke strode out of the house and down the front walk. Then motioning to Jameson, he gave his orders in crisp tones.
Climbing into the carriage, he was forced to contain his rising panic as the groom battled his way through the heavy traffic. A dozen images of Cassandra in dire need flickered through his vivid imagination, each worse than the other.
He at last reined in his wayward thoughts. He would rescue her before it was too late. He had to rescue her.
Gritting his teeth, Luke impatiently waited for the carriage to come to a halt in a seedy neighborhood. Jumping out, he directed Jameson toward a row of unkempt shops while he turned toward what appeared to be an abandoned school.
Toby had claimed to have tracked the scar-faced man to this narrow street before losing sight of him. Luke had no better clue as to where to begin his search, so he marched to the ramshackle building and began making his way through the shadows.
In the distance he could hear the squall of a hungry baby and the shouts of children at play, but close at hand there was a peculiar silence. No voices, no movement, not even the bark of a dog. That fact alone made him wonder if there was something, or someone, near keeping the place clear of strays.
Frustratingly, however, he had nearly circled the entire building without evidence that anyone had been near the place in years, when something shimmered in the pale dust.
With a frown, Luke bent down to pick up the tiny round object. His heart gave a sudden leap as he realized that he was holding a perfect pearl.
Cassandra . . .
Cautiously pressing himself against the building, Luke began inching toward a door half hanging from its hinges. He bent twice more to pick up pearls, inwardly congratulating Cassandra on her quick thinking. Clearly, she had realized that she must leave some clue as to her whereabouts and had used the only things available. His mother’s pearls had never been more beautiful.
Halting beside the door, Luke was suddenly aware of the sound of muted voices.
“I don’t like the thought of killing the lass,” a rough male voice complained, making Luke stiffen.
“No one says yer to think,” another voice argued.
“What if we be caught? It’ll be the hangman’s noose.”
“Just keep yer eyes open.”
“I ain’t paid enough fer the noose,” the first man grumbled.
“Yer more likely to get a bullet if yer don’t mind yerself.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“Yer will like it even less if the guv hears yer. Now shut yer yap and watch the door.”
Cassandra was inside. And for the moment she was still alive. It was all he needed.
Silently turning, he went in search of Jameson.
* * *
Ignoring the splinters ripping at her tender skin, Cassie desperately pulled at the boards covering the window.
“Please, Miss Cassie, you will hurt yourself,” Miss Stowe pleaded from a dark corner.
With a reluctant sigh, Cassie leaned her head against the cold stone. It had been less than an hour since the men had appeared from nowhere and forced her and Miss Stowe into the carriage, but she felt as if it was a lifetime.
For weeks she had barely avoided the traps of her mysterious pursuer. And all along she had known he would eventually succeed if she did not discover him first. Now the worst had happened, and she was far from certain that she possessed the strength to survive.
“We must do something,” she muttered.
The older woman shivered as she sat on the rickety chair. It was the only piece of furniture in the cramped room besides a broken desk.
“Who are these men?”
Cassie felt a stab of guilt as she turned to glance at her companion. Poor woman. All Miss Stowe had wanted was a brief respite from her tyrannical brother and the opportunity to attend a few elegant parties. She had no notion she was placing herself in such danger.
“I do not know,” Cassie murmured, only half lying.
“Tut, tut. I am injured, Miss Stanholte,” a male voice drawled. With a gasp, Cassie turned to discover a tall, dark-haired man standing in the doorway. “As one of your few surviving relatives, I thought you might remember me.”
Relative? Cassie stepped backward in distaste.
“Who are
you?”
His thin lips twisted in a mocking smile. “You do not recall my visit to your home?”
Once again Cassie had a brief, troubling image of a dark-haired man standing with her father. She had been peering through the window and had overheard the angry words and then . . . yes, she remembered. Her father had demanded the man leave, and he had suddenly pulled a knife. There had been a struggle, and the intruder had been cut on the cheek. She also remembered the servants forcibly hauling the man from the estate.
“You were no guest in my home,” she retorted.
His eyes narrowed in an ugly manner. “No, you are right. I was no guest, but I am as much a Stanholte as you, my dear niece.” He watched in pleasure as her eyes widened in shock. “Unfortunately, I have never been allowed the same luxuries as yourself. I was forced to endure on a pittance, while you were lavished with every comfort you might desire.” His smooth tone roughened with deep bitterness. “I was raised in secrecy and shame, while you were allowed your privileged place in Society.”
Cassie’s fear only deepened. There was something extraordinarily evil in his cold eyes.
“What do you want?” she breathed.
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
With deadly purpose, he strolled across the broken floor to tower above her stiff body.
“Everything that should have been mine. You see, I might once have been satisfied with a mere portion of the inheritance, but your father proved that Stan-holtes are incapable of sharing. So I will take it all.”
With an effort, Cassie prevented herself from cowering beneath his glittering gaze.
“You sent Liza to Devonshire,” she accused.
“Of course.” He did not even bother to deny his treachery. “I had heard my father often lament the loss of his eldest child. It seemed only fitting that I grant his dearest desire and discover the whereabouts of the prodigal son.”
Although Cassie only vaguely recalled her grandfather, she found it difficult to conceive that he could have produced a child so lacking in conscience. This man was an insult to the Stanholte name.
“You discovered nothing,” she gritted.
His smile merely widened at her overt distaste.
“Ah, but Liza has so successfully convinced your Man of Business that we have. And once you have conveniently disappeared, then there will be nothing to stand in our way.”
Lord Mumford's Minx Page 17
