The Fortune Hunter

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Did he give you his name?” she asked.

  “You don’t know who he might be?”

  Knowing her cheeks were ablaze with the heat swelling over her at his insinuation, polite though it might be, that she was a bona roba if she had more than one gentleman who might ask such a thing of her, she retorted, “Of course, I know who sent the message. Thank you.”

  He bowed his head and continued across the room with his tray of champagne.

  Nerissa looked for Annis and Philip but they had left the dance area, and it was impossible to pick out anyone among the crowd in the room. She hesitated. To leave without telling them would be jobbernowl. Yet if Hamilton was waiting for her—and the more she considered it, the more it seemed his sort of jest—then she would return with Hamilton before she was missed.

  Squeezing through the mass of people in the entry, she edged toward the door. She hoped it was not raining still. The drops of water had stained her gown on the way into the Upper Rooms. Frye would be distressed if Nerissa returned to Laura Place with the dress pocked with water streaks.

  Fresh air was intoxicating as Nerissa emerged onto the walkway. Her brow threaded in bafflement when she saw no sign of Hamilton. If this was his idea of a hoax, it was a most unwelcome one.

  “Miss Dufresne?”

  Nerissa started to reply, but she choked as she stared at the face of the man who had followed her yesterday. She opened her mouth to scream. The sound vanished when something pricked her left side. She looked down to see a small knife pressed to her gown. Its honed edge glittered in the light pouring from the Upper Rooms.

  “Be a good girl, and ye’ll ’ave no reason to fear this blade.” He motioned with his head to the dark beyond the pool of lamplight. “Just walk with me and stow yer jabber.”

  She nodded, although she wondered if her frozen legs would carry her even a single step. With her heart thuddding in her ears, she had to bite her lip to keep from shrieking a cry of help to the gentleman handing an elderly woman from a nearby carriage. She did not doubt that this horrible man would kill her if she was so want-witted.

  Two other shadowy forms appeared as she stepped into the dusk. She had no choice but to let them bind her hands, for the knife remained close to her breast. When the short man chuckled, she whispered, “Why are you doing this?”

  “Answers, Miss Dufresne,” he said with another laugh. “I want answers, and ye’ve got them.”

  “Answers to what?”

  Instead of explaining, he made a motion with the knife. She stepped backward, then choked as a cloth was stuffed into her mouth and tied behind her bonnet. A burlap bag was whipped over her head. The material scraped her bare skin as she took a deep breath to scream. The sound disappeared into a moan when pain exploded across her head, hurling her into a darkness deeper than the night.

  For a moment, as she emerged from the pit of pain, Nerissa was unsure where … or even when … she was. She had suffered this agony when the horse had leapt the hedge, landing almost directly on top of her. Was she just waking from that? Enmeshed in excruciating torment, her brain refused to form a single, coherent thought.

  Hands lifted her, and she heard the rumble of deep voices. Fear washed over her, as cold as a wintry wave breaking from the sea. She opened her eyes, but could see nothing. When her nose was tickled by roughness that was draped over it, she tried to raise her hand to push the material away. She could not move it.

  Horror propelled all confusion out of her mind. The short man and his cronies! They were abducting her! She struggled to scream, but her mouth was dry and sore from the fabric wrapped around her head. Only her feet were free. She flailed them, but to no avail.

  She heard a door open. She was set on her feet, and she heard voices coming toward her. Desperately she longed to screech for aid, but she was helpless. She sneezed as the bag was pulled off her aching head. The sound nearly obliterated the savage curse in a voice she recognized too easily.

  In disbelief, Nerissa looked across the small room to see Hamilton standing by an unlit hearth. His clothes were as ebony as the soot on the stones, but the fury in his eyes was blacker still. What was he doing here with these squires of the pad? Had they abducted him, too? She could not believe that, for he was unbound, and she could not imagine Hamilton being held against his will so docilely.

  Hamilton repeated the vicious words, then ordered, “Untie her. Mallory, did you lose what small amount of brains you were given?”

  “Milord, I told ye I’d get the lass. She—”

  “Enough! Untie her!”

  Nerissa winced as the gag was undone, tugging her hair painfully again. When the short man, the man Hamilton had called Mallory, held up his knife, she tried to scream. No sound emerged from her arid throat. He cursed more fiercely than Hamilton had, but sliced through the twine binding her hands.

  She took a single step toward Hamilton, then raced to him. He drew her into his arms and stroked her back. She surrendered to the tears of terror that had burned her throat.

  Hamilton looked over her head, his mouth a slash of rage in his austere face. When fear quaked along Nerissa’s slender body, his hand fisted at his side. Who had been the greater thick—him for hiring Mallory or the incompetent Bow Street Runner? As her tears dampened his shirt, he said, “Hush, my sweet, it was nothing but a mistake.”

  “Mistake?” choked Mallory. “Milord, ye ’ave got to be listenin’ to me on this.”

  “Mallory, your service to me is completed.” He silenced the Runner’s blustery retort with, “I suggest you leave for London on the morning Mail.”

  “Ye should heed me!”

  “I have seen enough of your mistakes not to want to listen to the telling of another. It was bad enough when you could not find facts that were clearly visible in front of your ugly face, but to abduct Miss Dufresne.…” His words vanished into a growl, for he would not speak his thoughts in Nerissa’s hearing.

  A sneer pulled at the short man’s lips. “Fry in yer own grease then.”

  Hamilton simply stared at Mallory. The shorter man’s eyes looked away first. With a shout, Mallory called to his comrades, and they slunk out of the small room.

  Drawing Nerissa back a half step, he looked for any damage those addled coves might have inflicted upon her. Tendrils of hair draped along her shoulders, that were bared by her gown, and one sleeve was ripped. Otherwise she seemed unharmed.

  From beneath his coat, he pulled a flask. A wry grin tipped his lips as he recalled offering her a drink from this very flask on the day they met. Unlike before, she did not hesitate as she held it to her lips. She took no more than a sip before handing it back to him.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured as he closed the flask and put it back under his coat.

  “Where are we?”

  “The back room of a tavern less than a league out of Bath.” He kept his arm around her as he steered her toward the door. She wobbled on every step.

  “Out of Bath?” she whispered, her eyes widening in shock. “Annis … Philip …”

  “We will return posthaste to Town to prove to them that you are safe.”

  “Yes, we must hurry.”

  When she took another step toward the door, she nearly collapsed. Hamilton caught her shoulders before she could fall. Leaning her against his chest, he bent and slipped his arm beneath her knees. He lifted her until her head rested on his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  As they came out into the inn’s cluttered yard, Hamilton kept his cloak about her. Mallory’s stupidity must not compromise her more than it already had. A whistle to his coachman brought his closed carriage to the broken gate. As he climbed in, settling Nerissa carefully on the seat, he called the man to get them back to Bath with the best possible speed.

  Nerissa sighed as she let the seat enfold her in safety. Even when the carriage rocked forward, as the coachman plied the tommy to the horses, she did not move. Only when Hamilton held out his hand
kerchief did she realize she was weeping.

  “Nerissa, did they hurt you?”

  She wiped the linen against her eyes. “They were as gentle as I could expect from knights of the road.”

  He smiled coolly. “They were not highwaymen, but Bow Street Runners.”

  “Why would a Bow Street Runner wish to abduct me?”

  “Because Mallory has a knock in his cradle. He thought he could deceive me into paying him what I promised him if he was able to take the thief I seek.”

  “You hired him?” She sat straighter and turned to him, although she could see nothing of his face in the darkness. “To help you find the fleecer?”

  “Townsend’s Bow Street Runners have an excellent reputation as thief-takers. ’Twas my misfortune to be saddled with one who was both incompetent and a gooseberry.”

  “But why did he abduct me?”

  With a shrug, he said, “Mayhap he wished to distract me from noting his shoddy work by bringing me the prettiest woman in Bath as a gift.”

  “I doubt I could be considered anywhere near pretty tonight. I must look a complete rump.”

  “You look beautiful to these eyes that have not been able to enjoy looking at you for so long.”

  Her own laugh surprised her. “Hamilton, you cannot see me. It is too dark.”

  “Then I must use another sense to admire your loveliness. The sense of touch, mayhap?”

  His hand glided along her shoulders to bring her to him. As her trembling fingers rose along his arms, she moved even closer. She wanted … no, she needed to be wrapped in his arms as he helped her put all thoughts of anything but this craving from her head.

  “But this is not enough,” he said with the impish lilt in his voice that always signalled mischief.

  “No?” she returned in the same tone.

  “Mayhap I should try the sense of hearing.”

  “Do you wish to hear that I am pleased you have come back to Bath?”

  “Alone?”

  She laughed again. “Most definitely, I am pleased you have come back alone.”

  “That,” he said with a scintillating smile she could see even in the darkness, “is better, but still not enough. Do you think the sense of smell would help?”

  She could do nothing but giggle when he nuzzled her neck with the tip of his nose. Then, as his heated breath caressed her skin, she clutched tighter to his shoulders. His hand slipped to her waist, and he boldly stroked its gentle curve.

  “Is that better?” he rasped, the humor gone from his voice. “Mayhap it is, but it still doesn’t serve the purpose. That leaves only the sense of taste.”

  “Yes,” she whispered as her fingers combed upward through his silky hair. “Taste me.”

  When his tongue teased the half-circle of her ear, she shivered with unexpected pleasure. She had been so certain he would kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted that with every beat of her heart. As his breath tickled her ear, she moaned his name with the longing that had been pent-up within her.

  Enthralled by his mouth sampling the sensitive skin along her neck, each gentle nibble a separate ecstasy, she let him lean her back into the soft velvet seat. She drew him over her, not wanting to let a moment of the delight evade her. The strength of his body pressed down upon her, introducing her to every virile angle.

  She guided his mouth to hers, no longer able to wait to feel its eager caress on her. His tongue parried with hers, daring her to be as bold. She gasped deep within his mouth when his fingers swept over her breast. Rapture rended her, threatening to shred her into a dozen fragments of delight.

  A sudden bounce of the carriage made Nerissa clutch his coat. She opened her eyes to see the flash of a street lamp. Its light burned into her, adding to the ache in her skull that she had forgotten for those brief, wondrous moments.

  “Bath,” Hamilton murmured, and she heard his regret as he sat, drawing her up into his arms.

  She said nothing as she leaned her cheek against his chest. The steady beat of his heart soothed her, and she closed her eyes, letting the happiness soar through her. In his arms, she could forget her worries about Cole and his work in London and the anguish of selling Hill’s End. In his arms, she thought only of the rough wool of his coat and the scent of his skin and the fascination of his gaze capturing hers.

  As the carriage slowed, Hamilton leaned out and shouted to a lad loitering by the door to the Upper Rooms. He tossed the boy a coin and asked him to find Philip Windham inside the Assembly. If the boy brought Mr. Windham and his companion to the carriage, there would be a yellow-boy for him. The lad raced into the building.

  Nerissa tried to straighten her bonnet, but she feared the brim had been broken. When Hamilton chuckled, she looked up at him, not sure what he found so amusing.

  “I see I shall be indebted to you for another hat. This is becoming a habit, Nerissa.”

  “This was not your fault,” she said as she tugged at one side.

  “But this is.” He lifted her bonnet from her hair and turned it so she could see the shattered back. In the dim light from the doorway, his smile took on a devilish tilt. “And I would gladly buy you a new hat, any time you wish, in exchange for your kisses.”

  A shout kept her from having to stammer an answer, because she had not been sure what to say. Philip nearly ripped the door open.

  “Nerissa! Thank goodness, you are safe. We have been searching every inch of the Upper Rooms for you. We … Hamilton!”

  Instead of explaining to his flabbergasted brother, Hamilton said only, “Get your carriage, Philip, and follow us to Laura Place. I think all of us have had enough excitement for one night.”

  Philip nodded, astonishing Nerissa, for she doubted if she could have restrained her curiosity so readily. When he stepped back, she saw the tension lining his face. She suddenly wanted nothing more than for the four of them to sit in her parlor and enjoy a cup of tea while they laughed together over her misadventure.

  As soon as she walked into the foyer, listening to Hamilton explain quickly what had happened to his brother, Nerissa knew she would be denied that simple pleasure. Mrs. Carroll was standing by the staircase, her apron thrown up over her face as she wept. Beside her, Frye was wringing her hands in dismay. The rest of the staff, from the cook to the footman, were clustered around them.

  “Miss Dufresne!” cried Frye, and pushed past the others as Nerissa hid her ruined hat behind her. She discovered she needed not have worried about her abigail noticing its battered state, because Frye gasped, “It’s terrible! So terrible!”

  “What is terrible?”

  “That!”

  Nerissa turned as the older woman pointed to the far side of the foyer. With a gasp, she tossed her hat to the floor and ran to the open door of Cole’s book room. She stopped, paralyzed with shock, as she stared about the room. Every drawer had been emptied, every book pulled from the shelves. When she saw the torn sheets scattered on the floor, she pressed her fingers to her lips. All of Cole’s work … everything he had struggled to design since he had been in short pants … all of it was ruined!

  Behind her, Annis moaned, “Who would do such a thing?”

  “Mallory clearly has had a busy evening,” Hamilton said as he bent to pick up a tattered book. He closed it and set it on an otherwise empty shelf.

  Philip straightened from where he had been righting a chair. “Mallory? The calf’s head who stole Nerissa tonight? Damn you, Hamilton!”

  Nerissa turned to stare at the younger man in astonishment. Annis put her hand on Philip’s arm, but he refused to be calmed. Grabbing a book from the floor, he shook it in Hamilton’s face. Nerissa was startled when Hamilton did not push it away.

  “This!” Philip snapped, barely able to spit out each word past his stiff lips. “This is what your desire for revenge has wrought! You have lowered yourself to hiring thugs to abet you in this worthless scheme to find thirty thousand pounds that you truly have no need of. Are you happy with what your
obsession has brought you?”

  Nerissa took the book and set it on a table. “Enough, Philip. What is done is done. Tomorrow, Frye,” she added to her wide-eyed abigail, who was being oddly reticent, “we will see what we can do to clean this up. I don’t want Cole to see this.” Turning to the housekeeper, who was still crying loudly, she said, “Mrs. Carroll?”

  “Yes?” She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron.

  “Please have some tea …” She looked at Hamilton and smiled sadly. “… and some brandy brought to my sitting room. Then see that everyone is calmed down.”

  “Yes, Miss Dufresne.” Backing out of the room, she herded the other servants toward the kitchen.

  Frye stayed long enough to ask, “Shall I have the Watch alerted?”

  “If you wish,” Nerissa answered, “although I don’t think we need to worry about this happening again.”

  When Annis and Philip started up the stairs, Hamilton put his hand on Nerissa’s arm and drew her back into the room. He closed the door and turned her to face him.

  “Don’t be so naïve,” he warned in a low voice. “Mallory may not be finished.”

  Panic flitted through her. “You think he might come back?”

  “We cannot be certain until I hear from Townsend that he has sent Mallory on another assignment. Until I do or until your brother returns from London, you should come to Windham Park.”

  “Windham Park?” she gasped. “But, Hamilton, that’s impossible! If I were to go with you there—”

  “Blast convention!” His fingers curved along the side of her face and tilted her eyes up so she could not avoid the fierce emotions in his. “You have had a harrowing experience, Nerissa, and you need to get away from the poker-talk that is sure to flutter about Bath in the wake of this evening.”

  “No one saw us.”

  “Except Lady St. John who was coming out of the Upper Rooms as Philip let out his roar.”

  Nerissa blanched. The countess was an incurable gossip. “But to go with you alone would ruin what little reputation I may have left.”

  His voice softened to a husky whisper. “As much as I would delight in having you all to myself, we shall not be alone. Philip will go with us, and as he would not be able to pull himself from Annis’s company for even a moment, she must come also.” Gently he brushed her cheek with his fingertip. “I do own to having sympathy for them, for I know the torment of being far from the side of one who fills my thoughts.”