Chapter Twenty-two
Nicholas grinned into his glass of port as the series of jests and congratulations rang through the gaming room at White’s. The wild rogue, who had captured the admiration of every young buck of the Ton, was no longer a sought-after bachelor, but married and soon to be a father.
Mr. Potts raised a crystal goblet filled to the brim with deep, red claret. “Lift your glasses gentlemen! To Weston’s heir! May he be healthy and as smooth with the ladies as his father!”
“Here, here!”
“To Weston!”
“Congratulations!”
Salutations permeated the air amid hearty handshakes and back-slapping, but Nicholas didn’t mind in the least. It wasn’t, after all, every day that a man announced impending fatherhood. The very idea of Eliza’s belly growing with his son filled him with pride. A strange tightness invaded his chest as he thought of the years ahead. Years of learning to be a family with the woman he loved by his side to share it all.
Tonight he did not gamble, but instead watched the Faro players as he drank and smoked fat cigars. Lounging back, legs crossed at the ankle, he perused his companions through a silver cloud of pungent smoke.
Bentley clapped him on the shoulder and settled into the chair next to him. “’Tis wonderful news, Weston,” he said jovially, his blonde hair gilded by the chandelier lights above. “It ain’t every day a man finds himself a prospective father. How is your wife fairing?”
“Amazingly well,” he answered with a slow grin. “Eliza will manage splendidly through the ordeal to come. She is the strongest woman I know.”
Bentley nodded his head. “So it is true then.”
Nicholas lifted a brow.
“You have indeed made a love match,” he continued. “I wasn’t so certain, but now I know the truth of the matter.”
He lifted his glass and drank. “I have always thought you an intuitive fellow, Bentley. I give you my permission to inform the world of the truth, if you wish.”
“Do you join her later?”
“Not at any society affair, I assure you. We have avoided the public of late, considering the newness of our marriage.”
Bentley threw back his head and laughed. “I do not doubt it considering the great beauty of your wife. Much better to keep the lady away from encroachers, I would think.”
Nicholas scowled slightly. “No one would dare.”
“No offense meant, Your Grace. Suffice it to say, if I were in your position, I would be just as protective.”
“Spoken like the gentleman you are, Bentley. My wife has much to deal with besides society forays, considering her condition. At present, she is refurbishing the nursery and fussing over details.”
“I do believe I am envious of you,” Bentley said with a smile. “I hope someday to be as fortunate as you.” Talk turned to other matters until something appeared to capture Bentley’s attention. “I say, Weston, is that not your man, Rawlins?”
He turned with a greeting, but it died on his lips at the furious expression on Rawlins’ face. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
Rawlins composed himself and spoke a short greeting to Bentley before turning back to his employer. “Your Grace, I must speak with you on an urgent matter.”
Making his apologies, Nicholas swiftly followed Rawlins through the throng of gentlemen. Leaving the smoke-filled rooms and stepping into the freshness of the autumn night, Nicholas turned at White’s front door. “What has happened?”
“Your lady has been taken, sir. Kidnapped.” Reaching into his pocket, he produced a gold pocket watch and a letter. Withholding the paper, he gave the watch to Nicholas.
Popping the cover, he read the inscription, immediately noting Charlotte’s name inscribed there. Fear pounded through his brain. His skin prickled with foreboding.
“A lad presented this, along with the letter, at the kitchen door,” Rawlins explained. “He said only to give this to you. He said it was found in the lady’s room; it once belonged to a dead man.”
Pieces of the puzzle began to horridly fall into place. Whoever took Eliza guessed that she’d managed to steal the watch from Edward while she rode the countryside as a highwayman. Snapping the lid closed, Nicholas pocketed the valuable watch. “Go on, man. Hurry.”
Rawlins handed over the letter. Nicholas broke the seal on the sheet of foolscap and quickly unfolded it.
“Her Grace, as you know, traveled to Charlotte House early this afternoon,” Rawlins supplied. “She was gone a very long time, but Thomas was with her, so we didn’t become concerned until nightfall.”
“Continue.”
“Several men and I went out to see what was keeping Her Grace. We found the curricle and Thomas’s body on the road.”
He cursed low.
“We searched everywhere and found signs of another carriage, footprints, and other evidence of some sort of scuffle. It was getting darker by the moment, so we returned to assemble more men. Then the boy arrived at the kitchen door. He gave us this letter, along with the watch, and said it was most urgent that you receive it.”
Nicholas clenched his teeth as he scanned the cryptic note. He wanted to howl his outrage. His blood ran like ice through his veins. “Your suspicions are correct. The bloody bastard took Eliza. They say they’ll kill her if I do not pay a huge ransom. The bastards mention knowing something of her nighttime activities. That could only mean one thing: the villains are thorough and know more about my wife than they should. If they do not manage to kill us both, they shall likely turn Eliza over to authorities.”
Coldness, a grim resolve settled over him as he stared sightlessly at the sheet of foolscap. Whoever had the audacity to steal his wife, threaten her, had just signed his own death warrant.
“The kidnappers demand my presence at half-past midnight.” Deceptively calm, he once again opened the watch cover to check the time. He had less than two hours to prepare.
Rawlins stood on the sidewalk, waiting for instructions.
“Come, man, we have no time to waste.”
He tied his horse to the back of Nicholas’s coach and within seconds, they were off to Berkeley Square.
Sometime later, he re-fastened the closures on a large leather bag and looking at the dour portly gentleman, gave him a grim nod. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am for your help at this late hour, Sir Michael. With my wife’s life in danger, I had not a moment to lose. I shan’t forget your help.”
Sir Michael Bloodworth, one of London’s most prestigious bankers, bowed slightly in acknowledgment. “Admittedly, I was alarmed at being awakened at such an hour, but I am aware that you are not a frivolous man. I knew the matter must be urgent. I am most happy to assist, Your Grace, and let me add that I wish you well on finding your wife hale and hearty. Lord Henry is a friend, and I would despair seeing more grief heaped upon his head. Her Grace grew up before my eyes and I am quite fond of her.”
Nicholas drew a finger over the gold filigree decorating the top of a gleaming mahogany box. Inside were two precisely weighted Manton pistols. He looked at the banker. “I insist this matter be kept strictly confidential, Bloodworth. I would not wish to see Lord Henry told of this, as he is just recovering from a heart ailment. Eliza is my wife, and I shall deal with it.”
Bloodworth nodded. “Of course. Be careful, Your Grace, and good luck.”
When the banker gone, Rawlins approached his desk from the shadows just as Pandora rushed into the room. Wearing trousers tied at the waist with a length of rope and an oversized man’s shirt, she clutched a battered hat in her hand. “I shall go with you! Do not dare say me nay, for I will not hear of it!”
“Pandora, go to your room at once,” Rawlins said. “You shall not involve yourself in this matter.”
Drawing herself up into a figure of outrage, she propped fisted hands upon her hips and glared at Rawlins. “How dare you? You have no rights over my person!”
“But I will, my dear,” he said with quiet certainty.
“You have run wild for too many years. It is time someone took you in hand.”
Pandora stomped her booted foot and pointed a finger at Rawlins. “That man will certainly never be you. My first duty is to my lady.” Her eyes filled and tears ran unchecked down her face. “I w-would g-give my life. Do you not ken?”
Nicholas approached Pandora, loving her for her devotion to Eliza. Gently, he placed his hands upon her shoulders. “We all know of your loyalty, Pandora, and I thank you for it. This, little one, is something I must do myself.”
Rawlins jerked. “But Your Grace, this is surely not a wise course of action. You need someone to cover your back.”
Nicholas frowned at the two of them, each so willing to put his or her life in danger. Emotion welled in his throat. “No. Not this time. Tonight I shall go alone.”
* * * * * * * *
Riding swiftly through the chilly London night, Nicholas skirted the more fashionable homes and throngs of carriages straight into the seedier parts of London. Through the stews where dilapidated buildings featured a prostitute in every doorway, past rowdy taverns filled with cutthroats of every sort, he rode. When he reached the docks, the rotten smell of the Thames slammed into his senses.
Eliza was here in this awful place, and the knowledge made his rage swell to dangerous proportions. Considering her past, she was, no doubt, struggling to remain calm in the face of this threat. Her bravery and courage were unparalleled, but the threat to their unborn child could affect everything. Fear hovered over him as his eyes scanned the docks for the warehouse indicated in the letter.
Tendrils of silver fog curled icy fingers over the land. The full moon, bright and golden, added an iridescent glow to the writhing gray streamers. Spying his destination, he dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby lamppost. In the distance, a horn sounded its lament and lamplight swayed on the bows of bobbing vessels as they moved sleepily in the water.
A brisk wind plucked at the layers of his black greatcoat as he moved stealthily to the dilapidated warehouse. Just as the note indicated, it was a two-story affair featuring an upstairs room that jutted out over the Thames. Wrinkling his nose at the offending odors permeating the air, he checked the arsenal stowed away on his body.
Beneath his billowing coat, he’d tucked a pistol at the waist of his black trousers. Knee high boots, featuring a deep cuff at the top, neatly hid a lethal blade and another pistol. He knew without a doubt that he’d be searched and was fully prepared to lose the pistol beneath his coat. With any luck, the other weapons would remain hidden from the kidnappers. After untying the heavy leather bag from the saddle, he gripped the handle and proceeded slowly to the warehouse. Meager light showed from the window above and contrasted sharply with the blackened building below.
Eliza was up there. He swallowed. But was she alive? No, he would know if she were dead, wouldn’t he? If she were dead, the world would turn empty and cold. It would stop spinning on its axis.
He paused at the gaping front door sensing the presence of another through the absolute silence. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he clutched the bag tightly with one hand and reached for his pistol with the other. Scanning quickly, he heard the faint squeak of a rodent as it foraged for food. Rickety stairs led to the second floor where a grimy window overlooked a ragged pile of rubble below. Splintered lengths of wood and twisted metal lay piled high like a drunken sentinel. Rats, huge and gray, skittered and sniffed, as they moved upon the mangled heap.
He took one step then two toward the stairway, then stiffened abruptly. The hard mouth of a pistol settled at the base of his skull and though he’d been prepared, he couldn’t help the leap of his heartbeat.
“I knew you would come,” said the male voice. Reaching over Nicholas’s shoulder, the man plucked the pistol from Nicholas’s right hand. “There now. Can’t have you shooting someone, can we?”
Something in the voice sounded familiar, but Nicholas knew he must wait to learn the man’s identity. “Where is Eliza?”
“Hmm. Resting comfortably I should imagine. Tied to the bed upstairs at the moment. Lovely piece, your wife. If she were mine, I might keep her tied to a bed. The spitfire gave me quite a go of it when I nabbed her, but in the end, I overpowered her. That is the way of we men, is it not?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Nicholas drawled, outwardly calm. “I have never had to overpower a woman.”
A brusque chuckle came from behind him. “Ah, yes, Nicholas, your reputation with the ladies is well-known. Tell me, how does it feel to have all that warm, willing female at your disposal?”
“Enough of your childish games,” he said, coolly. “Give me my wife, and you may have your money.”
The heavy bag was plucked from his left hand. “Ah, but I already have the money, Your Grace. Come, let us go up and re-acquaint you with your charming wife.”
Taking the stairs slowly, the pistol jabbing at the back of his head, Nicholas stopped at the landing and opened the door. Heartbeat accelerating, he stepped inside to stare down the length of another pistol pointed directly at his chest.
Beatrice stood by a rickety table illuminated by a solitary candle. The firelight cast crawling shadows upon her face. “Ah, darling,” she crooned with a feigned pout. “How decidedly awful that you should keep me waiting so very long. Since your hasty marriage, I had despaired of ever seeing your handsome face again but here you are.”
“I might have known you would have a part in this, Beatrice. You always were a bloody bitch.”
“Oh, Nicholas, you have always made me tremble with your wrath.” She laughed and moved closer. Close enough to touch. Eyes lambent, she ran her palm over his chest. “Such a big, strong man. Did you know that I wanted to seduce you many years ago? You were, what? Perhaps ten and seven. Handsome enough to make any woman fling up her skirts.”
The man standing behind him finally spoke. “We have wasted enough time.”
Beatrice’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Shut up, moron. We will handle this my way.”
The gun was removed from his back, and Nicholas watched as Park Mansfield came into view. His cousin moved to stand beside Bea. Park smirked at his growl of recognition.
“Bastard!”
“Ah, cousin, you have always had such a way with words.”
Nicholas ignored the two of them for a moment and looked around the room for Eliza. If she were dead, if one tiny hair on her head was disturbed, he would slowly dismember both Park and Beatrice.
Deep within the shadows of the room, he heard a faint sound and turned to find Eliza stretched upon a dirty tick mattress. Her hands were tied to an iron headboard. A dirty cloth had been bound around her mouth, effectively gagging her. Her eyes, dark within her pale face, were alive with frustration, fairly snapping with fury.
When he looked at her, she stilled, having gotten his attention. “Are you all right?” Rushing unimpeded to her side, he drew away the gag and watched her run her tongue over dry lips. “Are you injured?”
“No,” she croaked harshly. “Untie me, Nicholas.”
He sat upon the edge of the bed, reaching up to her bound hands. Angry red marks circled the delicate skin of her wrists and an angry bruise lay dark purple on her cheek. He untied her hands and rubbed them. Eliza hissed with pain.
Pressing a kiss to each wrist, he looked at her. “Do not worry,” he whispered for her ears only.
“I won’t. I trust you. Trust us.”
“The babe?”
“Fine, I think. I have been so frightened.”
He lifted his hand to trace the purple bruise on her cheek. Turning abruptly, he pinned Park and Beatrice with a look. “Who dared mark her? Answer me!”
“We do not have to answer a goddamned thing,” Park shouted. “Especially not to you. The former duke.”
Nicholas stood and helped Eliza to sit. Swinging her unbound legs over the side of the mattress, he helped steady her before turning back to his cousin. “What does that mean exactly? Should I hazard a gu
ess?”
Park bowed mockingly while Beatrice giggled behind her hand. “By all means, cousin.”
“You plan to kill both of us and take over the title. Simple enough to guess.”
Park set his pistol on the table and clapped his hands. “Clever. Very clever. I always credited you with intelligence.”
“I am intelligent enough to know that you will never get away with it. The plan is obvious, and you will be suspect immediately.”
“Not necessarily,” Beatrice said. She’d moved to the window, where she stood teasing the jagged, broken glass with one finger. “Get the watch, Park, and don’t be an idiot. Be careful.”
He glared at her before lifting his pistol again. Moving slowly, he reached out to remove the incriminating gold watch from Nicholas’s coat pocket. When he returned to the table, Beatrice plucked it from his hand, making him start.
“This small piece of jewelry shall be your undoing.” She smiled wickedly. “It shall soon become known that Eliza was none other than the dastardly robber who has scampered about stealing from her betters. She stole this piece from dear, dead Edward and, in a fit of revenge for her sister, killed him.” Beatrice tut-tutted and shook her head. “Poor darling Nicholas learns the truth about his bride. She is a thief and murderer. In a fit of rage, he shoots her dead then kills himself. Very neat.”
They were insane, both of them.
Eliza stood and clutched his arm. “You will never get away with this,” she said. “Why all of London knows that Nicholas and I have made a love match. Our affection is plain to see for anyone with eyes in their heads.”
“She’s right,” he added. “You will be suspect, Park, and well you know it.”
Park smiled slowly and shook his head. “Your bodies will not be discovered for some time, if ever. The Thames, as you know, is an unforgiving graveyard. Those tossed in are seldom recovered. I have plenty of time to invent an airtight alibi.”
Silk and Scandal Page 27
