Silence.
‘I know you can hear me, Seb Leatham!’
Behind her a twig snapped and a boot emerged from the bushes. ‘Leatham?’ Her initial relief quickly turned to fear at the sight of the Duke of Thetford’s outraged face. ‘Sebastian Leatham?’
* * *
Seb knew he was being cowardly as he darted into the door next to the kitchen. Yet he still took the dark servants’ corridor and stairs back to his bedchamber. Watching her cosying up to that fool Westbridge in plain view was horrendous. The fact that she would do so right under his nose after last night was just plain cruel. His bedchamber was thankfully empty when he arrived in it, although Gray had laid out his evening clothes before disappearing.
He dressed quickly and, for the first time since he had met her, without any thought. Or so he told himself as he stubbornly refused to check his reflection in the mirror. What difference would it make if his hair was mussed or his chin needed shaving? A quick swipe of a razor over his stubbly jaw wasn’t going to alter things. If he looked a wreck, it matched how he felt. Wretched and broken. The bullet which had almost killed him had hurt less.
But he had nearly gone back for more.
When she had followed him across the lawn and called to him, Seb had wanted to stop and forgive her, accepting whatever half-cocked and shoddy explanation she gave him simply because he couldn’t bear the thought of tonight being the end. What if she had wanted him again tonight or in the future when the bloom had faded from her advantageous, passionless marriage to her Duke? The married women of the aristocracy took lovers all the time. Both partners did. It was the way of things once the obligatory heir and a spare had come squalling into the world. But then what? Having part of her rather the whole would be torture. Never-ending and soul-destroying torture. Yet he was tempted. That was why he had quickened his pace and effectively hidden himself away for the better part of an hour. Self-preservation.
Perhaps this was how his mother had been with his father? Devastated at not being important enough to truly matter but so hopelessly in love that she accepted whatever crumbs he tossed her way? Seb had seen how tragically that had ended and had no desire to allow history to repeat itself. Ultimately it was better this way. Sever all ties cleanly and then let this new and agonising open wound heal over. He snatched up his pocket watch and glanced at it impatiently.
Dinner started in five minutes; many of the guests would already be seated. In twenty, the King’s Elite would come and within an hour his mission would be over. All he had to do was avoid her till then.
He took the servants’ stairs back down just in case and emerged near to the door of the dining room, only to stop dead in his tracks. Gem was there waiting for him, watching the grand staircase while wringing her hands as if in the same turmoil as him. Wearing the same dress she had worn on the shooting field, her usually perfect coiffure wilting. The loose tendrils framing her face poker-straight. Seb considered retreating back the way he had come, but she sensed him and turned around. Her lovely eyes wider than he had ever seen them.
‘Oh, Seb! Thank the Lord...’
He couldn’t do this. Wouldn’t do this. He held up his hand and surged towards the sanctuary of the dining room. ‘Not now.’ And not ever.
‘But, Seb!’ She grabbed his arm and tugged. ‘Something unexpected has happened that I really need to tell you about.’
Ruthlessly, he used his superior strength to escape and straightened his coat. Then ploughed through the door, fighting to compose himself in front of the sea of aristocratic faces sat at the table. ‘Good evening.’
‘There you are, Millcroft!’ Penhurst stood and stepped away from his chair. ‘You’ve been a difficult fellow to peg down today. My wife tells me you are leaving on the morrow. Early.’
‘Indeed. I have neglected my affairs long enough.’
‘Talking of which, I have something I have been meaning to discuss with you. Do you have a few minutes?’
‘But, my dear, the soup is about to be served,’ Penny stated.
‘Then tell the kitchens to wait!’ Penhurst snapped at his wife as if she were a servant and just like one she shot to her feet and went off to do his bidding. He leaned closer and whispered in Seb’s ear, ‘I think you will be very interested in what I have to say. Especially after you see the contents of my cellar.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Seb re-emerged into the hallway with Penhurst just as Clarissa had steeled herself to go in and try to find a way to drag him out. He stopped dead and stared at her for a second, then the pair of them walked away as if she didn’t exist. They rounded the corner and she heard his deep voice.
‘If you will excuse me for a moment, I believe I dropped something...’ Miraculously he darted back towards her, but his expression was determined rather than angry. ‘Ah—there is my stick-pin!’ As the diamond was safely nestled in his cravat, she knew instinctively something was afoot. Seb kneeled before her and pretended to pick it up, then still on the floor made a show of replacing it. ‘Go to the drive. Find Gray.’ His voice was so soft she had to crane her ears to hear him. ‘Tell him to delay for twenty minutes.’ He stood and bowed. ‘Warn him I will be in the cellar.’ His eyes flicked subtly to the side where Penhurst stood waiting.
She swept into a curtsy of acknowledgement. ‘My lord.’ The Duke of Thetford could wait. She hovered until both men were safely out of sight, then headed to the front door. Two footmen stood guarding it, so she changed direction and, thinking on her feet, veered back towards the dining room and the servants’ door Seb had emerged from. There had to be a better way out of this house than in plain sight and the Penhurst servants were excellent at blending into the background. She followed the sound of the kitchen and found a door out to the garden, then, keeping low and close to the house, she skirted its perimeter until she saw the drive ahead.
‘Can I help you, my lady?’ Another footman stepped away from his sentry post. She sailed towards him, looking pained.
‘I have a headache. I thought a little air might clear my head before dinner.’
‘Then surely the gardens provide a better view?’
The faked sneeze was wet and explosive. ‘The evening pollen...’ She aimed the second sneeze to hit his face. ‘I’m so sorry... I’ll ju-ju-ju-just...’ he instinctively backed away while she rummaged in her pocket for her handkerchief ‘...walk on the gr-gr-gravel if you don’t mind.’ She buried her nose in the linen and blew and he waved her on. Still sniffling, Clarissa didn’t wait for him to change his mind.
‘Gray? Gray?’ She kept her head straight ahead, her eyes searching the bushes. ‘Anyone?’ She was a good three hundred yards from the house when one of the Invisibles appeared, still shrouded by the foliage he was hiding in.
‘He’s still watching you.’
She stopped and sneezed again, noticing that indeed the footman was scrutinising her every move. Wiping her nose, she whispered the message, then dithered as the Invisible blended back into the shadows. Then she casually sauntered along the drive a bit more before turning around and making herself stroll slowly back, offering the footmen a sunny, bunged smile as she wandered past him.
‘Shouldn’t you go in the front door, my lady?’
She paused mid-step and grinned, nodding. ‘Probably wise. I don’t want to set off another sneezing fit.’
The footman accompanied her to the heavy oak door and used his fist to bash on it, effectively transferring her into the care of one of the other guards, then bade her a good evening. Back in the house, the most prudent course of action seemed to be to go back into the dining room and wait, but Seb was in the cellar with Penhurst. All alone. Who knew what dangers lurked there? She had her fingers around the door handle when she decided prudence could go to hell in a handcart and, when the footmen turned, swiftly escaped through the handy servants’ door again.
The ki
tchen loomed brightly ahead, the door now flung open to let out some of the heat. Quite rightly, the kitchen staff were grumbling about the delay in service, the cook the most vocal. Her cream soup would curdle if she kept it on the heat much longer, yet doubtless they would all be blamed for their ineptitude by the master when he was served a disaster. Clarissa inched her face around the corner and waited until the coast was clear before daring to cross the narrow space to the staircase that led down to the cellars. Silently she tiptoed down, then pressed her back against the wall at the sound of voices, neither of which she recognised. More sentries, no doubt. A man who guarded all exits and his gardens wouldn’t leave the place he hid his smuggled brandy unsecured.
It also presented Clarissa with a very real problem. Theatrical sneezing wouldn’t get her past the guards. Nothing would. Venturing further down would put Seb in jeopardy. For now, Penhurst had no reason to suspect he was a spy, or at least she hoped he didn’t. Therefore, until Gray arrived with the cavalry, all she could do was wait. Preferably close by. Back in the corridor, she tested the other doors. The linen closet would have to do for now.
* * *
Penhurst said nothing as he led Seb down the cavernous tunnel chiselled into the chalk. He had already been warned that his life henceforth depended on his silence and had agreed that, if the pickings were as rich as the viscount had alluded, then he was prepared to take the risk. They had long left the empty cellar behind—barren aside from the four burly and armed individuals who nested there—and if he were to hazard a guess at his actual location he assumed he was either under the gardens or under the Downs beyond. A solid white wall of chalk loomed ahead of them, a small padlocked door sat central in the rock. Only then did Penhurst stop.
‘Before we go any further, let me explain what I need. If you are not the man to provide it, then our little tour ends here.’
Seb folded his arms and said nothing.
‘How serious are you about investing in more hells?’
‘Serious enough to have purchased a building in Covent Garden. I sign the papers tomorrow evening upon my return to town.’
‘Just the one, then.’
‘For now, although it won’t be long before I have a string of them. I have the capital. All I need to do is buy more buildings and persuade the current owners of the established houses to sell theirs to me.’
‘You seem arrogantly sure that will happen.’
‘I can be very persuasive. Either they sell the businesses to me or I sell them down the river. Or I destroy them with the competition. My fortunes can withstand a year or two of drought while I undercut their prices and lure their clientele away. Give me two years and I’ll have a controlling hand on every lucrative hell in London. That’s what I did in Sydney. Some I built from scratch and some I procured along the way. Once I set my mind to something, I do whatever it takes.’
‘Just as you did with the delectable Lady Clarissa. One of my servants saw you leaving her room before the sun came up this morning. Seems you got to sample the goods before she skips down the aisle with Westbridge.’ The knowing leer made Seb’s blood boil both at the insult to Gem and the reminder of her treachery. But she wasn’t his to avenge. Never truly had been.
‘As I said, once I set my mind to something... The lady was ripe for the picking and now that she has been thoroughly picked he’s welcome to her. She’ll warm my bed again if I click my fingers, which I might do for my own amusement. Cuckolding a duke might be fun.’ The smug, satisfied grin must have been convincing because Penhurst threw his head back and laughed.
‘You’re a ruthless bastard, Millcroft. That’s what I like about you. I think we will make a good partnership.’
‘You are assuming I will want to invest.’
‘On the contrary, my dear fellow. I am assuming you will want to buy, because behind that door is your means to undercut your rivals with the finest French brandy for the cheapest price. Or the cheapest brandy for a pittance. Either way you can’t lose. You can buy it all or sell it to the other hells for me on commission.’
‘Wouldn’t you get more on the open market?’
‘I already sell vats of the stuff on the open market every day, but I’m pragmatic and always open to another market. The more lucrative the better. With your connections, and ruthless ambition, I could soon be the sole supplier of all the hells in London.’
Penhurst removed the padlock and pushed the door open, then hung back to allow Seb to enter, closing it swiftly behind him and securing the padlock. The cave was vast and stacked high with barrels. Hundreds of beautiful wooden caskets filled with conclusive, irrefutable evidence.
‘Impressive.’ Seb walked around the room as if taking stock, his eyes scanning the space for potential danger. No hidden guards. Another heavy, locked door, obviously leading to the cliffs, was directly opposite. Aside from that and the one they had just walked down there were no others. When his men arrived, Penhurst would be surrounded. Caught red-handed amongst his ill-gotten gains. All Seb had to do was keep him in the trap.
‘Who does it come from?’
The viscount touched his nose in response. ‘You are not the only one with contacts. Only a fool would cut his nose off to spite his face and I am no fool. My suppliers are mine to know, just as your contacts are yours. It’s less messy that way.’
‘It also keeps the overall power in your hands.’
‘And minimises the risk. The Excise Men are damned idiots, but the less people know, the less chance there is of them learning about my little gold mine. And it is a gold mine. Be in no doubt.’
‘I take it Lord Gaines is in on this.’
‘You ask a great many questions when you should be chomping at the bit at the fortuitous opportunity I have just laid at your feet.’
‘I’ll be risking my neck. Only a fool would enter into a business arrangement with criminals without knowing all the pertinent facts and I am no fool either. I will need to know which men I am working closest with. If I don’t trust them, then I won’t put my money in. So I’ll ask again—is Gaines involved?’
Penhurst shrugged, unoffended. If anything, Seb’s caution appeared to impress him. ‘He is. Regis, too.’
‘And Westbridge?’
Penhurst snorted and shook his head. ‘Good grief, no! The man is an idiot. I keep him close because he’s good for the reputation and useful to a man in my position. A convenient duke in the hand works wonders and opens so many illustrious doors. Only a fool lets a duke go.’
A bitter truth indeed.
Seb’s well-trained ears heard a single footstep in the distance. Any second now and all hell would break loose. ‘Any chance I could try before I buy?’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Clarissa wasn’t entirely sure what she was expecting, but the sheer speed of the house being invaded and being completely overrun with what she presumed was uniformed men with guns was staggering. The noise of so many pairs of boots swarming through the rooms and corridor and up the stairs had to have tipped Penhurst off. Had Seb anticipated that? Had he planned for every eventuality or was he all alone, held hostage by the viscount and whatever guards were amassed down there?
Not being privy to the final preparations, she had no idea and the worry was killing her. When those heavy boots clattered towards her, she burst out of the closet, intent on telling them to hurry up, not expecting the barrels of six muskets to be immediately pointed at her face.
‘She’s with us!’ Gray pushed to the front as the Excise Men surged down the stairs towards the cellar. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Seb’s down there all alone!’
‘Not for much longer. We’ll get him out safely.’ To prove his point, Penhurst’s guards emerged from the stairwell with their hands on their heads and muskets prodding them between the shoulder blades.
A shot went off, and she panicked, only to h
ear that the lock had been blown so that the King’s men could file into the cellar. ‘Stay here!’ Gray left her to join the others and, as quickly as they had arrived, Clarissa found herself stood all alone again. Waiting.
She waited a full three seconds before she plunged down the stairs herself. With no clear plan of action other than being there in case Seb needed her, Clarissa followed the men through the cellar and then along the never-ending tunnel beyond. They all gathered at the impasse of the door. Gray stood with his back to the frame and bellowed. ‘We have you surrounded, Penhurst! Open this door and come out slowly with your hands up.’
When there was no reply, he issued another warning, then motioned for one of his men to fire at the lock. He entered first, crouching low, then signalled with his hands. Two more men, neither in any uniform save that of a labourer, followed him inside. A few seconds later they declared the chamber safe.
Once again, Clarissa tacked herself on to the end of the line as they streamed into the hollowed-out cavern. Huge wooden barrels were stacked from floor to ceiling. Another door remained bolted and padlocked from the inside, but there was no sign of Penhurst or Seb.
An older gentleman Clarissa hadn’t noticed before was in deep conversation with Gray and another man. ‘There must be another cellar.’
‘If there is, Lord Fennimore, then I haven’t found it.’ Gray looked baffled. ‘Unless Penhurst took him somewhere else.’
‘It’s possible, I suppose. There are certainly no signs of a struggle.’
At the word struggle Clarissa instinctively scanned the ground for signs of blood. It was then that she saw something shimmer on the ground to the left. She stepped towards it and bent to pick it up. Seb’s diamond stick-pin. It wasn’t bent or misshapen. It hadn’t been ripped off his cravat in a fight. Instead the little plug at the bottom had been carefully put back on the sharp end of the pin and it had been placed on the ground. Seb had left a clue.
The Mysterious Lord Millcroft Page 23
