Sally MacKenzie Bundle

by Sally MacKenzie

  “An excellent idea.” James started back up the stairs at a slower pace. “Only, I don’t intend to sleep tonight.”

  “Not at all?”

  “Not at all. I have too many years without you to make up for.”

  Chapter 16

  “He’s married!” Richard threw his newspaper down on the breakfast table, knocking over the cream.

  “Yes.” Philip tried to stem the white flow with his napkin. He’d been expecting this outburst. One of Lord Eversly’s footmen had told him about the activity at Alvord House the night before.

  “He’s supposed to be dead.”

  “I know.” Philip dodged the teapot that Richard flung across the room. A spray of hot liquid burned his hand. He flinched and wiped it on his dressing gown.

  “Where the bloody hell is Dunlap?”

  “On his way back to America.”

  “On his way to America!” Richard’s eyes narrowed as he leaned over the table. “I thought you told me he could do this job,” he spat between gritted teeth. “You swore he was competent.”

  “I thought he was. Apparently he attempted to dispatch James the night before last, but failed. The rumor on the servant grapevine is that Miss Hamilton bashed him over the head with a chamber pot. James got a confession from him and then arranged for his passage early yesterday morning.”

  “A confession?” Richard surged to his feet, upending the breakfast table and sending the dishes shattering to the floor.

  Philip brushed steak and kidneys off his lap. “No one will believe the word of an American whoremonger.”

  “Perhaps not, but I am sick to death of waiting for this to be resolved. I will not wait any longer. Today, Philip. We will settle this problem today.”

  “Richard, think. You need a plan.”

  “No, Philip, I need results.”

  Sarah hovered by a large floral arrangement in Lady Carrington’s ballroom. It had taken hours of argument, but James had finally agreed to the scheme. She couldn’t say she enjoyed playing cheese to Richard’s rat, but if her role led to Richard’s entrapment and removal from their lives, it would be well worth it.

  James had lived in the shadow of Richard’s obsession too long. Even the short time Sarah had been the object of his machinations had been too long. But the coal in her gut that kept her determination burning was the thought of what her life would be like if she and James had a child. She would never be able to relax. Every night when she put the infant in his crib, she would worry that the babe would be gone when she came to him in the morning. She would scrutinize every servant, suspect every visitor, search every room, and every quiet landscape for potential danger. It would be hell on earth.

  James had worked to reduce the risk. He had insisted that she dress in bright yellow and wear a yellow plume in her hair so she would be easier to trace in the crush of the ballroom or the dim light of the garden. He had Walter Parks alert his extensive network of associates. There was a street urchin by the front door and another at the back gate. A coachman leaned against one of the many vehicles lined up outside. A hackney driver idled halfway down the block, and at the street corner a man in livery chatted with a maid. Even inside the ballroom there were people alert for trouble.

  Yet James still could not let go. Sarah had forced him to retreat to the card room, but he kept reappearing at her side at the end of every set.

  “James,” she finally hissed. “Nothing will happen if you keep hovering over me like an anxious nursemaid.”

  “I don’t want anything to happen.” His face turned stony.

  “I know.” Sarah sighed. Her next partner was approaching. “We’ve gone through this over and over, James. We agreed to try this plan. Now go play cards.” She gave him a little push. He glared at her, then at poor Viscount Islington, but he did finally turn and stalk back to the card room.

  When the viscount bowed at the end of their set, Sarah was certain she would find James at her elbow again, but he’d managed to stay where he’d been sent. Now she was waiting for Lord Pontly, one of the more brainless specimens of the ton, to claim her for a country dance.

  “Ah, Miss Hamilton—or, I should say, Duchess. How is my new cousin?”

  Sarah turned slowly. Richard was standing just behind her.

  “Mr. Runyon.” She swallowed sudden fear. “How nice to see you.”

  Richard chuckled. At least that is what she assumed he intended the noise to be. It sounded more like icicles splintering against the pavement to her.

  “You don’t lie well, your grace. Since you have allied yourself with my cousin—much against my advice, you will recall—you cannot be glad to see me. Where is James, by the by? He’s been standing guard over you like a dog with a new bone.”

  “I believe he is in the card room. If you look, I’m sure you will have no trouble finding him.”

  Richard took her arm. “Oh, I’ve found what I’m looking for.”

  “Mr. Runyon, I have promised this dance to Lord Pontly.”

  “Pontly graciously gave up his dance to me. Now, come along.”

  Sarah had no choice—the pressure of Richard’s hand on her arm forced her across the dance floor. She scanned the room, looking for Robbie or Charles, but didn’t see either of them. She hoped the other watchers had noted Richard’s entrance on the scene.

  Richard steered her toward a set forming near the doors to the garden. At least it might be cooler on that side of the room. Mr. Symington was to be one of their group. He was partnering a mousy-haired girl who kept her eyes on the floor. He certainly had wasted no time in finding his next victim.

  The orchestra struck the first note.

  “Shouldn’t we move a little quicker, Mr. Runyon? We’ll miss the set.”

  “So eager to dance with me? Too bad. We aren’t heading for the dancers, my dear, but for the doors just beyond.”

  “Well, yes, I guess a bit of fresh air might be nice.” Sarah’s eyes skittered over the ballroom as the door loomed closer. Was that Robbie in the corner? She couldn’t tell. And Charles? He might be over by the ficus plant, but unless he had eyes in the back of his head, he would be of no help.

  Richard swept her out the door and down the steps. A bulky shadow loomed out of the darkness. Sarah opened her mouth to scream, but a rough hand slapped across her face. Someone jerked a bag over her head and someone else threw a cloak around her, binding her arms to her sides and hampering her legs. Thick arms grabbed her and hoisted her into the air.

  “There’s the back gate,” she heard Richard say. “Load her into the carriage and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “I believe you just trumped your partner’s card, old man,” the Earl of Eldridge said.

  “For the fourth time!” Viscount Paxton threw down his hand. “My fault for playing with a newlywed.”

  Eldridge leered at James. “Mind on other matters, hmm?”

  Eldridge’s partner, Baron Tundrow, grinned. “We should raise the stakes. Maybe that will sharpen Alvord’s wits.”

  “No, thank you. I don’t care to go home a pauper.” Paxton leaned across the table. “Alvord, get your mind out of the bedsheets or give your seat to another player.”

  “Surprised you’re here at all.” Tundrow laughed. “Thought we wouldn’t see you for at least a week.”

  Eldridge nodded. “Too horny by half, Alvord. Go home and take your lovely wife to bed. Let poor Paxton here play with a man whose mind is on his partner’s aces, not his wife’s arse.”

  James stood. “Then, if you’ll excuse me?” he ground out.

  “Definitely.” Paxton gathered up the cards. “Have an enjoyable evening.”

  “Very enjoyable!” Tundrow chuckled. He called after James. “We’ll be looking for an heir in nine months, Alvord.”

  James ignored him.

  He knew he had done Paxton a disservice in agreeing to play with him. The cards could have been written in Sanskrit for all the sense he was making of them tonight. He had not wan
ted to be in the card room. He had not wanted to be at Carrington’s bloody ball.

  He scanned the ballroom for Sarah and saw her yellow plume waving by a mass of flowers. He relaxed slightly.

  He hated this plan. Why the hell had he let Sarah persuade him? He had tried to devise every possible safeguard, but he knew that nothing was without risk. Well, this was the first and the last night he was going to allow this insanity. Tomorrow he would hunt down Richard and have it out with him, as he should have done months ago.

  James watched the yellow plume move across the ballroom. There were too many people in the way for him to identify Sarah’s partner. He shifted position so he could get a better view.

  “Your grace, let me congratulate you!”

  “Mrs. Fallwell, how nice to see you.” Melinda Fallwell, one of Lady Amanda’s particular friends and a formidable gossip in her own right, blocked his path. She would talk his ear off if he let her. He tried to see around her elaborate headdress. The forest of purple feathers sprouting from her green turban made it impossible for him to see the other side of the room. Was the yellow plume heading to a set by the garden doors?

  “Couldn’t wait for a proper wedding, could you?” Mrs. Fallwell chuckled. “Never knew you were so hot-blooded. Take after your father. He was quite the buck in his salad days, I’ll tell you. I spent an evening touring the shrubbery with him. Oh my!” Mrs. Fallwell’s fan increased its tempo in front of her suddenly flushed face. She nodded her head and her feathers bobbed in agreement.

  “But then he married your mother,” she said. “Such a cold girl, she was. Beautiful, but icy. No one could understand what he saw in her. Guess it was just time to start his nursery. Figured he didn’t have to worry she’d sow a cuckoo in his nest.” She folded her fan and tapped James on the wrist. “But it looks like you didn’t make your father’s mistake. From what Amanda told me, your bride has blood hot enough to match you own.”

  That caught James’s attention. “Excuse me?”

  “You know.” Mrs. Fallwell threw him an arch look and fanned herself again. “That inn. What was it called? The Green Man? Amanda told me all about it at the Palmerson do. Wondered why it took you so long to get a ring on the girl’s finger.”

  “I see.” James considered strangling Lady Amanda. He looked around for her—and saw the yellow plume disappear out the doors to the garden.

  Bloody hell! He might have said the words aloud—he registered Mrs. Fallwell’s sharply indrawn breath as he charged onto the crowded dance floor.

  “Alvord, watch where you’re going!”

  “My hem!”

  “Have a care, man!”

  James ignored the complaints as he pushed his way to the garden. He would flatten anyone who tried to stop him—fortunately no one did. He reached the doors and pounded down the stairs.

  He was too late. All that was left of Sarah was a broken, yellow plume.

  “James, what happened?” Robbie and Charles hurried down the garden steps.

  “They’ve taken Sarah.” James studied the ground. Two, no, four men—four men against one woman. He pushed aside his terror and thought quickly. “I’m going after them. They must be in a coach—the crush of traffic outside should slow them. I’ll catch the hackney driver Parks has waiting down the block.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “All right, Charles. Robbie, will you see the ladies home?”

  “I’ll make arrangements for them, and then I’m coming after you.”

  James nodded and took off at a run to the back gate, Charles at his heels.

  The gate stood open. The alley was deserted; Parks’s boy, gone. Laughter and music drifted faintly from the ballroom; the rattle of carriage wheels, the creak of harnesses, and the clopping of horses’ hooves came from the street. James ran down the cobblestones toward the main thoroughfare.

  “Yer grace.” A small boy darted out of the shadows, chest heaving. He pointed down the street. “If ye hurry, ye can catch Rufus—he’s goin’ after ’em.”

  “Well done, lad.” James tossed the boy a coin. “Tell Parks.”

  James ran up to an old, broken-down hackney and grabbed hold of the driver’s seat just as Rufus started to pull away.

  “Hey!” Rufus raised the butt of his whip, aiming it at James’s hands. “Let go, if ye knows what’s good for ye.”

  “It’s Alvord, Rufus. I’ll take over now.”

  Rufus squinted down at James. “Oh, sorry, yer grace. Didn’t know it was ye.”

  “No offense taken. Hurry down, man, and let me go after them.”

  “Sure, yer grace.” Rufus jumped down from his seat. “Keep your eye on the coach with the wide scratch on the back.”

  James glanced ahead and nodded. “I see it. My thanks.”

  “Good luck, yer grace.”

  Rufus stood aside, and James swung up to take the reins. Charles climbed up beside him.

  “Not exactly what you’re used to,” Charles said.

  “No.” James urged the nag into motion. Her ancient feet shuffled forward. “We don’t want to overtake Richard’s coach anyway, nor get close enough to let them know they’re being followed. There’s no telling what Richard would do to Sarah then.”

  “True. Let’s just hope this sorry specimen of horseflesh can manage to keep Richard’s equipage in sight.”

  James nodded, weaving between the carriages waiting to take their wealthy owners to the next entertainment. The horse had a mouth of iron. The only blessing was that Richard was also stuck in traffic. If only he had his own rig—but then any of his own carriages was distinctive. If Richard or his henchmen happened to glance back, they’d know immediately who was following them. A hackney was much less obvious.

  “There—they turned right,” Charles said.

  “I see.” James yanked on the reins and the nag reluctantly responded. Patience, James counseled himself. Patience was bloody difficult.

  Richard continued east. They followed him through the broad streets of Mayfair down Piccadilly to Haymarket. The streets got narrower and more cluttered as they made their way toward Covent Garden, but they managed to stay close. Richard’s carriage was just ahead of them as they approached the intersection with Henrietta Street.

  “Hey, yer lordship, what’s a nob like ye doing drivin’ that hack?”

  James glanced over for a split second to see the sorry drab who had called out to him. Then he heard the pounding of horses’ hooves coming too fast. He swung his head back to see disaster barreling down on them from Henrietta Street.

  Richard’s coach got clear, but the poor animal hitched to their carriage never had a chance. She stood in the intersection and screamed as two matched grays and a fashionable curricle crashed into them.

  Chapter 17

  No one bothered to take the bag off Sarah’s head. That was a mixed blessing. It was hot and she could barely breathe, but the men in the coach ignored her. She curled up tightly in her corner and held very still, listening and hoping she would learn something that would help her escape.

  “We did it, Philip!” That was Richard. “We got the bitch. You’re sure James can’t find us?”

  “I’m not sure of anything.” Philip’s voice was low and hoarse. “But your cousin should have no way of knowing where we are. We should have time, time enough for you to send the note.”

  Sarah smiled to herself. They obviously didn’t know that Mr. Parks’s associates were following them.

  “Ah, yes, the note.” There was a pause, then Richard continued. “I’d say there was no rush to send the note.”

  “What do you mean?” Philip’s voice was sharp.

  “That we should take time to amuse ourselves.”

  “Finishing this is amusing enough.” Sarah thought she heard a thin whine of panic. “You’ve—we’ve—waited for this for years, Richard. This is it, do you understand? Half the ton saw you leave the ballroom with the girl. You can’t hide any longer. When this is over, either you or
Alvord will have won.”

  “I’ll win, Philip, never fear. With the girl, we’ve got James by the balls. A pity Dunlap didn’t manage to kill him, but this may actually be better. He won’t want to lose the only bit of tail he’s ever gotten. He’ll acknowledge my claim to the dukedom. I’ll finally get what is mine. I’ll be Duke of Alvord.”

  “I don’t think it will be that easy, Richard.”

  “You can’t tell me that the man will give up swiving now that he’s finally figured out how to do it?” Richard laughed. “I don’t think so. He’ll do anything to get her back.”

  The coach lurched to the left. Sarah heard the clatter of carriage wheels and the sound of two vehicles colliding. Then pandemonium. Horses screamed and men shouted. She hoped Mr. Parks’s men had decided that now was an excellent time to free her.

  Richard knocked on the roof of the coach. “What’s going on, Scruggs?”

  “Nuttin’, sir. Some drunken bucks crashed their curricle into a hackney, that’s all. Just missed us, sir.”

  “Good.” Richard laughed. “That was close, heh, Philip?”

  “Yes, it was close. Allow me to point out, Richard, that we have just had demonstrated the fact that no plans are perfect. You cannot delay sending the note to your cousin.”

  Sarah listened to the noise fade behind them. Her hope of immediate rescue faded with it.

  “I don’t think we should just hand the girl back to James.”

  “Richard.” Philip’s voice was icy. “We have discussed this.”

  “You’re just an old maid, Philip.”

  “It will be difficult to kill her and escape hanging. And if she’s dead, you’ll have nothing to bargain with.”

  “I won’t kill her, though she may wish that I had.” Richard chuckled. Sarah’s heart leapt to her throat.

  “Richard! You are losing sight of the main goal.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You are. The goal is the dukedom, not revenge.”

  “Your goal is the dukedom. Mine is the dukedom and revenge.” Richard’s voice grew louder with enthusiasm. “God, can you picture James’s face when he finds out his precious wife has been ridden by half the British navy? If she ends up pregnant, he’ll never know if the brat is his or some drunken sailor’s. And if she doesn’t get a babe, she’s bound to get the clap.”