A Rogue to Remember

by Bowlin, Chasity

  Highcliff reached for his quill and began scratching out the man’s direction on a piece of fine parchment. “He was at an inn near the docks, The Cock and Crow Inn… I spoke with a woman who had been Alice’s neighbor. He was there asking after Alice and was not overly troubled by news of her passing. Not to be indelicate, but are you entirely certain it was a fever that claimed your sister?”

  Devil’s eyes narrowed. “What do you suspect, Highcliff? Now is not the time to withhold information!”

  “Mrs. Blye, Alice’s neighbor, was given most of the things left in her rooms that you did not keep for the child… Mrs. Blye has been quite ill herself. She was using a box of tea that had been Alice’s. Every time she made herself a cup of it, she became violently ill. When I examined it, I found that the very bottom of the box had been painted green. Paris green to be precise.” Highcliff’s tone was frank as he referenced the once popular pigment that had been discovered to have deadly consequences. “I can’t say that it wasn’t purchased that way, though most merchants know better by now. I do believe that Munro tampered with the inside of the box and then refilled it with tea that would absorb the poison from the paint and slowly kill Alice.”

  Devil couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. “She suffered terribly, and he knew. He did that to her and left her there to die from it.” And Marina. She could have died from it as well.

  “Yes,” Highcliff agreed. “He did. He wanted rid of her so that he could find himself another wife, one whose family would not cast her off, penniless and ruined. I’m sorry, my friend.”

  “What else did you learn from this woman?” Devil asked.

  Highcliff must have recognized his desperation for a change in subject, so he said, “Munro was keenly interested in the child and the fact you had collected her. Your suspicions on that front are correct. I think he means to abduct her and ransom her to you. And then there’s your pretend fiancée.”

  Devil’s brows rose at that. Lips firmed into a frown, he demanded, “How do you know we’re pretending? Perhaps I’ve fallen desperately, tits over arse in love with her.”

  “She’s pretty enough. I’d say you’d definitely fell tits over arse in lust with her, but we both know it isn’t love. Not for you. What is she really?”

  “Marina’s governess. But posing as my betrothed, with a chaperone in the house, was the best way to maintain her reputation,” Devil admitted. “Out of curiosity, why is the idea of me falling in love with a woman so ludicrous to you?”

  Highcliff smiled. “Because you’ve often decried the state of marriage as something to be avoided at all costs. Haven’t you? And a woman such as your Miss Marks could only be had through marriage. You are many things, my friend, but you are not a man who would despoil an innocent woman and lead her to ruin. We both know that.”

  It was true, and yet Devil found himself regretting the words he’d spoken in haste in the past, words that he might well have to eat. If their all too brief interlude in his bedchamber had shown him anything, it was that his ability to resist her was thin and weak. Devil rose to his feet, impatient to do something constructive about the threat that his sister’s former love presented. “I’m off to find Munro. I mean to beard him in his den and put an end to this.”

  “And an end to your association with Miss Marks? Is that in sight, as well?”

  Devil considered his answer carefully. “It was easy enough to dismiss the idea of marriage when, at the time, I’d never met a woman who tempted me that did not already have a husband.”

  “And are you tempted by her?”

  Devil cocked his head. “You seem inordinately interested in my intentions toward Miss Marks. Why is that?”

  Highcliff sighed. “For the sake of argument, let us say that I am indebted to Miss Euphemia Darrow. As such, I am bound by honor to see to the safety and welfare of her friend and pupil. If your intentions toward Miss Marks are honorable, I would not, hypothetically, have to intervene. But if they are not, then I must act.”

  “Hypothetically, of course,” Devil replied.

  “Naturally,” Highcliff replied with smooth grace.

  “At this moment, I have no intentions toward Miss Marks. Honorable or otherwise. If that should change, it would be in a manner that would require no action on your part,” Devil said. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  Highcliff nodded. “That is good to know, my friend. If you require more assistance with the matter of Munro, I will do what I can. I’m assuming you will want to handle this discreetly given that it could eventually impact your niece’s reputation and future.”

  Good God. He hadn’t even considered it. Marina was the bastard daughter of a traitor. Yes. Discretion would certainly be required. “You are quite right. For Marina’s sake, her connection to him must never be known.”

  “Good luck, my friend. Munro is a coward, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a danger to you.”

  Thinking of Alice and the slow, torturous manner in which it appeared the bastard had ended her life, Devil was quite certain of that.

  *

  Willa sat in the garden. The air was crisp, but the sun was bright above her. The dawning of a new day had improved her outlook greatly, and while she was not fully recovered from all the events that had occurred the night before, she had calmed significantly. It had been a kiss and nothing more. Yes, she’d had a moment of weakness. Yes, she’d been foolish and perhaps reckless. But she was an intelligent, strong woman who knew her own mind and she both could not and would not falter again.

  With that in mind, she turned her attention to Marina who played with her doll and the carved animals her uncle had given her. Watching the child, Willa noted the bright light in her eyes and the way she engaged with her toys. She was a bright child, and having someone who talked to her as if she were an intelligent being rather than staring at her like an oddity or cooing at her like an infant the way Mrs. Farrelly did was allowing that to come through. But Willa had no doubt that the trauma Marina had suffered, watching her mother die and being ripped from the only world she knew, would no doubt linger for the child for some time to come. And the threat of Mr. West and whatever schemes he was about would do nothing to abate that.

  Mrs. Farrelly came bustling outside then, smiling happily at the little girl. “I’ve made the little lamb a bite to eat, Miss Marks. I thought the brisk air might stir her appetite. She hardly eats enough to keep a bird alive!”

  Mrs. Farrelly would have happily had them all fatted like sacrificial lambs, but Willa nodded. Marina did need to eat, and it was a bit cool for the child to be out so long despite the bright sun above. “Run along inside with Mrs. Farrelly, Marina. I’ll collect your things and bring them inside.”

  The little girl rose, the carved horse still clutched in her hand, and followed Mrs. Farrelly into the house. Taking the moment to breathe and enjoy the air, Willa turned her face up to sky. It cleared her mind and helped her to find the peace she so desperately needed.

  But her sense of peace and tranquility did not last long. It might have been a sound, it might have simply been some instinctual awareness of danger, but Willa became aware after a moment that she was not alone. Lowering her head, she opened her eyes and found herself staring directly at Alaric West and two rather large men. They stood just inside the garden gate, the sound of their entrance likely camouflaged by the chattering of Mrs. Farrelly to Marina and the slamming of the door behind them.

  “I’ll scream,” Willa warned.

  “There’s one maid and the cook in the kitchen,” Mr. West said. “My compatriots can snap their necks and grab the child before they can even sound an alarm.”

  “What do you want?” Willa asked.

  Mr. West opened the gate and gestured for her to go through it. “If Lord Deveril wants to keep me from my child, Ma’am, he will have to offer me some compensation. You are my collateral to see to it that he is willing to negotiate. You won’t be harmed if you cooperate.”

  W
ith more bravado than she certainly felt, Willa began, “There is a house full of servants—”

  “No, there is not,” he interrupted, cutting her off abruptly. While he did not raise his voice, it was still a tone that could only be described as warning. “It is Sunday morning, and half of the staff has taken their half-day to attend church. The few downstairs will be of no help, and by the time those in the upstairs chambers can reach this garden, we will be long gone from here! Lord Deveril himself has gone out, and the men he had guarding the front door saw nothing. The men who were patrolling the mews—well, they’ll never see much of anything ever again. Do not try me, Ma’am. Come peacefully.”

  “And if I do not?” Willa demanded. She knew the answer, of course. But stalling seemed like the safest of tactics. The longer they stood there talking, the greater the chance of someone realizing something was amiss.

  “I do not enjoy hurting women. But I will do so. And when I am done with you, I will go into that house and take the child,” West said with complete sincerity. “There is naught you can to do to stop us… except come along in her stead.”

  It was highly likely that Lord Deveril would not pay for her return. Why should he, after all? But they did not know that. “I’m to assume then that ransom is your ultimate goal?”

  “It is,” he agreed.

  “And do I have your word that if I cooperate I will not be harmed?”

  He smirked. “And would my word be good enough for you?”

  No. But it was the most she could ask for in that moment. She’d made a terrible error in judgement coming into the garden without actually bringing footmen with her. They’d offered to accompany her and she’d shooed them away, wanting to be alone with her thoughts save for Marina’s too quiet company. Assuming that the guards stationed at the door and the entrance to the mews was enough had been foolhardy on her part. If she’d but waited for everyone to return from church services, they’d have been safe enough. “It will have to be, will it not?”

  “Come along,” he said. When he raised his hand to gesture toward the gate, it held a wicked looking blade. “I’ll only use this if you force me to do so.”

  Willa shuddered but said nothing. Instead, she stepped forward, moving slowly but steadily toward the gate. Her shawl trailed behind her and, at the last moment, she let it flutter to the ground, trampled beneath the boots of the two large men who accompanied Mr. West. She hoped that if someone discovered it, they would recognize it as the cry for help she intended it to be.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Devil returned to his home in Mayfair to find it in an uproar. His aunt, Lady Carringden, was in a full swoon that was clearly an affectation. Mrs. Farrelly was sobbing into her apron, and he could hear Marina wailing to beat the band. There was no sign of Miss Marks. Had she left? Had the events of the night before prompted her to flee? It was a terrifying thought for reasons that were not limited to his young niece’s welfare.

  “What pandemonium have I returned to?” Devil demanded. “What is going on here?”

  “She’s gone, my lord,” the butler said. “From the garden.”

  “I need a complete explanation if you please. Who, what, when, and where!” Devil snapped.

  The butler drew in a shuddering breath. “Miss Marks was in the garden with the child. Mrs. Farrelly fetched the little one to give her some luncheon and Miss Marks remained behind, stating she would collect the child’s toys and follow shortly. But she did not. The toys remained in the garden along with Miss Marks’ shawl, and the gate leading into the mews was open… and the men you stationed at the entrance to the mews—”

  Devil frowned. “What about the men?”

  “One has died, m’lord. His head bashed in with what I cannot presume to guess… the other one is not much longer for this world, I fear. He met the same cruel fate.” The answer had come from Mrs. Farrelly, broken periodically by her sobs. “And now the poor, wee child is heartbroken for Miss Marks. We all are. What is to become of her?”

  Devil’s blood had chilled in his veins. He was furious but also utterly terrified. “She will return, Miss Farrelly. I will see to it. Take care of Marina, and I shall return as soon as I can.” To the butler, Devil added, “Send a note round to Lord Highcliff. Alert him that things have taken a dark turn and I need him to meet me at The Cock and Crow Inn.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the butler said with a nod. “I will see to it.”

  Devil turned and made for his study. From the drawer of his desk, he retrieved a brace of pistols and an assortment of blades. The pistols went into his coat pocket and the daggers he concealed in his boots and elsewhere on his person. He also collected a pouch of coins. Money was usually the most expedient method of encouraging cooperation. Determined to see Wilhelmina returned safely, he didn’t care if it was by force or payment. When he felt sufficiently armed, he left the library. He wasn’t allowing himself to think about what might be happening to Willa at that moment. Those thoughts would only distract him from what he needed to do to get her back.

  Devil charged from his home, ignoring the chaos that still continued in the hall, and strode purposefully down the street. At the corner, he hailed a hack. It was a quicker option than having his own carriage readied or waiting for a horse to be saddled and brought round. Even then, it was a short journey. It was shocking, really, how little distance actually existed between the exalted halls of Mayfair and the desperate slums of St. Giles.

  When the hack rolled to a stop, Devil got out, tossed a coin to the driver, and waved him on. He paused for a moment then to survey his surroundings before entering the small and none-too-clean inn known as The Cock and Crow Inn. A coin slipped to a busty and scantily-clad serving wench along with a whispered request had him shown up the stairs and to a small room under the eaves.

  “This is where Alaric West lays his head?” Devil asked, surprised that the man hadn’t managed to swindle his way into finer accommodations.

  The wench smiled, revealing a gap between her front teeth. “Aye, my lord. Reckon it’s where he lays a lot of things… including me. I could give you a tumble if you like.”

  “No, thank you,” he replied, not even remotely tempted by her. Once upon a time, he might have been… just for the novelty. “My business is rather urgent today.”

  The girl opened the door and let him into the room. “Well, best get on with your urgent business then. I’ll see if I can’t find a different sort of urgency to fill my pockets below stairs,” she said with a wicked grin and walked away.

  Stepping inside, Devil surveyed the space critically. The bed was unmade. Dirty crockery and empty bottles littered the floor. Despite that, the room gave the air of being deserted. There were no articles of clothing or personal items left behind. In fact, he was fairly certain that the room, despite its untidy state, had not been slept in for some time.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  The gruff voice of the landlord behind him had Devil turning around. “I’m looking for the man who has let this room.”

  “Aye, I been looking for him, too. Owes me a week’s rent he does!” the man groused.

  “You’ll get what you’re owed… but only if I get satisfactory answers from you, sir,” Devil replied, keeping his tone casual.

  “What does he owe you then?” the landlord asked.

  “He behaved dishonorably with my sister,” Devil said. It wasn’t the truth in its entirety, but it was enough of it that he didn’t have to add lying to his conscience nor did he have to jeopardize Miss Marks’ reputation by disclosing her abduction.

  The landlord’s expression soured even further. “I never liked the bounder. Winking and flirting with my girls downstairs in the taproom. I don’t run that kind of establishment! Good girls working for me, I have. My own daughter and my niece!”

  Devil said nothing to that. He’d seen those good girls when he came in and, even without being propositioned by one, they’d been displaying enough bosom that they would ha
ve looked less obscene if they’d been fully naked. He’d seen more modest gowns in bawdy houses. “Do you know where he went?”

  “I don’t. It’s been two days since I’ve seen him, longer still since he spent a night under this roof, I think. Though he often slips in after dark to meet with folks in the taproom. I can tell you he’s had two men coming and going with him of late. Big chaps, stout and looking a bit rough about the edges, even by standards here.” The landlord paused, took a deep breath, and then added. “I heard him call them by name, and if you mean to make good on your promise to pay what’s owed by him, I’ll have the coin now and their names to you after.”

  Devil reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and produced the small leather pouch. He passed the man a sovereign from it. “I am assuming that will cover the lot.”

  “Aye, and then some. Called them by Jim and Joseph Colton. Brothers they are, and look enough alike that you can’t miss it,” the landlord said. “I’d seen ’em down at the docks before. Loading and unloading the ships for Jacobs and Stern Shipping. I reckon you could get more out of the man what works there. Big chaps, they are, one a might larger than the other. Bruisers, they be.”

  Fairly certain he’d made their acquaintance before, Devil nodded. “You’ve been very helpful. If he returns, send word to me in Mayfair… Lord Deveril by name.”

  The landlord raised his eyebrows in shock. “Well, don’t you get around then? We’ve heard of you even down here, my lord.”

  “Gossip and rumors. Nothing more,” Devil said, his expression shuttered and his tone firm. It was not the time for telling tales. “Keep it quiet that I was here, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all, my lord. Quiet as the grave I’ll be,” the landlord vowed, holding up the coin he’d been given and flashing a wink.

  Devil made his way to the taproom and ordered an ale. It was served up by the same wench who’d shown him to West’s room. If possible, the bodice of her dress had been tugged even lower, and it appeared her ample bosom was ready to spill out of it at the slightest provocation. He turned away, ignoring her moue of disappointment, as he watched the door and waited for Highcliff’s arrival. It was only a moment later that the bell tinkled and the door rushed inward on a heavy wind. Highcliff entered with it, but not dressed as the dandified gentleman most thought him to be. The man wore snug black breeches, boots of pitch black with not a hint of sheen to them. He wore a black shirt and coat as well, with no cravat. He looked like a house breaker.