by Jenna Jaxon
“Wretch!”
“Lest you begin to have second thoughts, my dear.” A laugh and a swat on her backside and he stepped away.
How could he tease her like that? She sighed and scrambled into the rest of her clothes. “Christmas might be too long a time to wait.”
He chuckled and led her out of the room.
As they descended the stairs, Nash slipped his arm around her waist, a possessive action she loved. She couldn’t wait to get back to Lyttlefield with the news.
They reached the bottom step and she glanced about for her wrap. She didn’t want to call the butler and give him ideas about what they’d been doing upstairs together for so long. “Nash, do you know where I put—”
Movement to her right. She wheeled around and found herself face-to-face with a huge bear of a man, retreating from the small reception room, two ornate silver candlesticks in one big paw. He turned, and his dirty gray shirt loomed large at her. A black mask hid his face. In his other hand, a cocked pistol aimed at Nash.
Before she could even scream, Nash had whipped her around behind him, shielding her from the danger and forcing her up the stairs.
No, no, no. He must not put himself in danger because of her. What would she do if . . .
As if by magic, seven other members of the gang converged out of the shadowy corridor, sacks clinking with valuables slung over shoulders or clutched in greasy hands. Charlotte gripped Nash’s shoulders.
“Do not worry, my dear,” he whispered loudly. “When I distract them, run upstairs and lock yourself in the bedroom. They want goods, not you.”
“No,” she whispered back, “I won’t leave you here with them.”
“Charlotte.” His voice held the command of a man who would not be gainsaid. “This is not the time to assert your independence. You will obey me—”
“’Ere now, mi’lord.” The burly man with the candlesticks waved the pistol at him. “Can’t have the lady leaving just when things is gettin’ right fun.” His eyes behind the mask flickered over her face and she ducked behind Nash. “Them’s some nice gewgaws in her ears. Stones’ll fetch a right nice price for the Govner.”
“ ‘The Govner?’ Who’s that?” The edge in Nash’s tone caught her attention. Why didn’t he tell the men to leave? Or call the servants?
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The sneer in the ruffian’s voice made Charlotte cringe. “Him’s the one’s kept us safe all this while. I’m no blab, though. Yer won’t get nuffin’ out o’ me ’bout the Govner.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Kelliam!” Nash shouted, and the corridor dripped officers. They materialized from under the staircase, from around the potted plants, out of the receiving room the big thief had vacated. Kelliam himself appeared from behind the long-case clock.
Nash stepped forward, knocking the gun from the thief’s hand. Runners grabbed the big man from both sides and wrestled him to the ground. The rest of the stunned gang watched, amazed, as the officers seized and bound them before they could even put up a struggle.
Shocked to her core, Charlotte stared from Nash to Kelliam to the head thief, rolling around on the floor.
“Good work, Lord Wrotham.” Mr. Kelliam nodded and consulted his watch. “I hadn’t expected you to be at home still. Didn’t we agree it would be best if you were not here when the attack occurred? You or Lady Cavendish might have come to harm.” He glared at Nash. “And very nearly did.”
“I am sorry, Kelliam.” Nash caught Charlotte’s eye, his twinkling. “Lady Cavendish and I ended up in a spirited discussion about the joining of our estates. We quite lost track of the time.”
The wicked man. Charlotte bit her tongue and broke from his gaze. She would make him pay for that little indiscretion.
Nash turned sober. “Have you found out who the informer is?”
“Not yet.” Kelliam nodded, and the two Runners holding the thief on the floor pulled him to his feet. “But I’m certain now that I have the cooperation of all these men, I’ll know directly. In fact, let us see who we’ll be talking to by and by.” He reached over and jerked the mask from the man’s face.
“Daniel Micklefield!” Nash’s face grew dark. “Your uncle won’t be able to hold his head up for shame at your treachery.”
Charlotte shook her head in sympathy. Poor Mr. Micklefield. There’d be no living this down for him. The scandal might very well ruin his business.
Nash nodded, and the other deputies pulled the masks from the rest of the gang members’ faces. “William Bell, Andrew Sharpe, Charles Robinson.” His stare became icy. “These are local men. The others I don’t know.”
“Possibly from London, my lord. We’ve found many of the soldiers discharged after the war have not been able to find employment and have therefore turned to crime.” Kelliam peered into their faces, then turned back to Nash. “We’ll take them down to The Bull. Mr. Micklefield gave us permission to hold the blackguards there if we caught them.” He cut his eyes toward Daniel. “He’s likely to be a mite riled when he finds out one’s his nephew.”
Nash nodded. “See what you can get out of them. I’m taking Lady Cavendish back to Lyttlefield Park. Keep me informed.”
Kelliam nodded, and the whole troop headed out the door.
Charlotte turned to Nash, who blithely placed a finger over her lips. “Shhhh. I’ll explain everything in the carriage.”
Charlotte gave him one searing look. “My wrap, please.”
Once in the carriage, Nash took her hand. She came close to snatching it away, but something deep down stayed her. She’d hear what he had to say for himself.
“I am so sorry to have withheld that little bit from you, Charlotte.”
“Little bit!” She pulled at her hand, but he held it fast. “Robbers and Runners leaping out at me. I’m surprised I didn’t swoon.”
“You are made of sterner stuff, as you have proved all summer. I trusted that you would be sensible—”
“And run up the stairs like a ninny and leave you to fight them alone?” He was going from bad to worse.
“Be sensible and stay put.” He kissed her hand. “I had to make them believe you were no threat, but I assumed you would refuse to yield your ground. You gave Kelliam a fright, I’m certain. He didn’t expect us to be in the house.”
“Joining of properties indeed.”
“How else would you have me put it?” He grinned at her. “I do beg your pardon, though. I thought we’d enough time to leave before the robbers arrived. They came a bit earlier than expected.”
“But why did you expect them at Wrotham? I thought you’d set a watch all over the estates and couldn’t find them. And then Mr. Kelliam said—”
“That was part of the plan. We spoke in London about how the gang always seemed to know about my movements here at Wrotham. Kelliam suggested that one of my servants might be an informer for the gang, someone who knew my movements and a great deal of yours as well. There might even be someone passing information about you in your own household.” Nash’s face hardened and his grip increased.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry, my dear.” He loosened his grasp and kissed the injured hand. “I believe if we find out who he is, I’ll be hard pressed not to throttle him.
“Or her. It could be a woman. Many will do anything for her man.” She squeezed his hand. “I know I would.”
“So I saw. You acted foolishly, Charlotte, to . . .” He stopped when she put her finger to his lips.
“Let us not waste this night with talk of how foolish we each can be.” She smiled and removed her finger. “Else I will have to remark on how terribly foolish you were to try to disarm that robber.”
“You do remember I have been in combat—”
She grabbed his face and pressed her lips to his. One way to stop his foolish gabble. A good way, in fact.
They arrived at Lyttlefield Park as the lights were being lit. Charlotte swept into the hall on Nash’s arm, eager to find her friends and te
ll all her news. Lord, what an eventful day!
A babble of excited voices led them toward the drawing room.
“Everyone must have gathered there before heading back for supper and the crowning.” She hurried her steps as he led her into the room, crowded with more people, it seemed, than she had ever seen there. She scanned the room, searching the faces. Where was Jane? Everyone seemed clustered around the fireplace. Had it gotten colder? Then, above the din of the room, one voice rose to a crescendo.
“I don’t care what she’s told you. I tell you, that is my fireplace mantel!”
Charlotte stopped so abruptly that Nash carried onward into the room. He turned, brows raised. But she gave him no sign. There was no disguising that voice.
At last, the bane of her existence had come to call.
“Good evening, Edgar.”
Chapter 32
“This is Edgar?” Nash asked, scowling.
“Yes, my stepson.” Lord, would the surprises never end this day?
“It’s Sir Edgar Cavendish, if you please.” The peevish voice rose once more. “And this woman is a blatant thief.” He pointed his finger at Charlotte. “I come here to pay my respects to my stepmother only to find she has stolen all my possessions and set them out unashamedly for all the world to see. Even to the Robert Adam mantelpiece.”
The company’s gaze shifted to the mantelpiece, sleek white marble, with inlaid verd antico flutes in the frieze and jambs.
Jane detached herself from George Abernathy, who seemed to be searching for a drink, and hurried over to Charlotte. “Well, my dear, I think it’s time to open your budget.”
“I believe you are correct, cousin.” She smiled at the company, whose gaze was riveted to her, and moved toward Edgar.
“I fear you are wrong on all accounts, Edgar.” She’d not call him by his title to save her soul. That ought to set up his bristles. “According to the marriage settlements, signed by your father, after his death I was allowed to take any material possessions I brought into the marriage. I have done so.”
“But you’ve taken everything.” He spun around, his gaze darting from one piece of furniture to another, until it finally rested on the mantelpiece. “You can’t have bought that as well.”
“I have copies of my settlement papers and a box full of receipts if you care to peruse them. The document on top is a copy of my grandmother’s will, where you will see she bequeathed the mantelpiece to me.”
He looked at them with a Friday face. “You’ve ruined me.”
“I think you’ve done that yourself.” Charlotte motioned toward the doorway. “If you’ve come to collect your furniture, you had best head back to London. Whatever remains belongs to you.”
Edgar leaned toward her and she took a step back, almost running into Nash.
“Don’t you understand, I’m on the rocks! I’ve got nothing. Why do you think I came back early from my grand tour? Uncle Gordon wrote and told me my money had run out. But I still had the house and its furnishings.”
“You’ve inherited the house, haven’t you?” Nash broke in, impatient. “That should fetch a goodly sum, unless. . .”
“Mortgaged.” Edgar spit out the word as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.
Charlotte shook her head. Sir Archibald had always done everything in his power to placate Edgar’s every whim. The grand tour had likely depleted his funds completely. Poor Edgar.
Suddenly grasping Charlotte by the hand, Edgar propelled her toward the door.
Before he had gone two steps, he was halted and hoisted up off the floor by Nash’s two capable hands, sunk into his black jacket. “Lay hands on her again and I’ll draw your cork but good.”
“What if I ruin her instead?” Edgar jeered at Nash, who shook him like a terrier with a rat.
“You wouldn’t slander a lady. Your own stepmother?” Nash’s eyes narrowed.
“He’d do whatever it took to make me give up my possessions.” Charlotte sniffed. She’d dealt with Edgar for five years. And the information he thought he held over her was likely scurrilous. “What do you think you know, Edgar?”
“Put me down and let us step back into the hall.”
Nash released him immediately with a smothered curse.
Edgar barely caught himself, windmilling his arms to try to keep his balance. He tugged at his coat, rumpled beyond repair, and headed out the doorway. Nash took Charlotte’s arm. She sent a speaking look to Jane. Keep them all here, she mouthed to her, then followed Edgar out.
“All right, Edgar, what is this scandalous information?” Charlotte had done with his antics. Given the slightest provocation, she’d be happy to turn Nash loose on him. With Edgar’s unexpected presence, she’d not even been able to tell Jane the news about her marriage.
“That you’ve been holding house parties for rakes and rogues and women who are nothing more than light-skirts. How would you like for that to get back to your father, Stepmother?” He sneered triumphantly.
“And who has been spreading this vicious gossip, I wonder?” Charlotte glanced at Nash and gestured, as if she was tossing someone over a balustrade.
“Who indeed, Charlotte?” Nash grinned back at her. “I might venture a guess.” He turned his attention back to Edgar. The smile evaporated. “Are you by chance acquainted with Lord Fernley, Cavendish?”
Edgar paled but nodded.
“Well, let me speak a word in your ear about that gallant. After making improper advances to Lady Cavendish, and likely other ladies of the party, Lord Fernley proceeded to try to balance on the railing of the veranda and fell into the rosebushes. His dignity being somewhat bruised, he left the next day.” Nash advanced on Edgar until he had him pressed as flat as possible against the wall.
“Hear me straight, Cavendish. Lady Cavendish has just consented to be my wife. I do not believe you wish to slander the future Countess of Wrotham.” Nash thrust his face to within inches of Edgar’s. “Both her father and I would be very displeased to hear such tales being repeated.”
Edgar opened his mouth to speak when the door knocker boomed. Nash stepped away from his quarry and turned to the door just as Fisk appeared and opened it.
“Lord Wrotham, if you please.”
Mr. Kelliam? Charlotte glanced at Nash and shrugged her shoulders. What was he doing here? She came forward as the Runner with another, younger man, strode into the hall. Hands pinioned behind his back, the stranger stared at her in stark terror.
“Kelliam?” Nash came from behind the door. “Thayer?” He addressed the frightened man, whose face now approached the color of new cheese. “What the devil are you doing with my valet?”
“He’s your informant, my lord. Daniel Micklefield turned stag almost before we could sit him down at The Bull.” Kelliam chuckled. “He told me more than enough about the gang and its movements. Did you know, Lady Cavendish, they’ve been hiding out all summer in an abandoned barn at Grafton Lodge?”
“Dear Lord.” Father would have apoplexy when he found out.
“I popped back over to Wrotham Hall and caught this one,” he shook the valet, “with all his belongings just setting out down the road at a trot.” Kelliam released the wretched Thayer, who stood before Nash with his head lowered.
Nash’s gaze bore into the man, his deepening frown overshadowing his handsome features. At last he spoke one word. “Why?”
Thayer finally raised his head, grimacing. “I had to, my lord. My family in Dorset came on hard times. My father died, you remember, and my mother’s still got three little ones at home to feed. I’ve been sending them almost all my wages, but it hasn’t been enough.” He took a deep breath, though he still avoided Nash’s eyes. “When we were in London in June, my mother wrote that the landlord had threatened to turn them out into the street. I had to do something.” Thayer paused, as if trying to gather the strength to continue.
Nash’s face remained stony, though a tic made the end of his mouth twitch. “You could have spoken to me if
things had become so dire. But continue.”
The man sighed. “Happened to mention my predicament to another gentleman’s gentleman I’d met at a pub, and he said his gentleman might have a job for me where I could make a good bit of money on the side. So he arranged for me to meet the man. He seemed very pleased you had an estate in Kent. ‘That will make it even easier,’ he said. When I heard his whole scheme, I tried to say no, my lord. But he gave me a bit of money—enough to keep my mother safe for a while—and the promise of more to come. After that, I couldn’t say no.”
“Indeed.” Nash’s cold tone said he didn’t care what the circumstances were. “His name, man. The least you can do to redeem yourself is to give us his name.”
“Yes, my lord.” The poor valet finally looked into Nash’s eyes, then a frown creased his brow. He cocked his head, as if bewildered. “But there he is now, my lord.” Thayer tried to point, but having no hands to do so motioned with a jerk of his shoulder. “He’s in the corner there. Sir Edgar Cavendish.”
Charlotte’s knees nearly buckled. Edgar had masterminded the robber gang? Impossible. The boy didn’t have the brains for such a thing. There must be some mistake. She turned toward the place where Nash had been holding Edgar just as her stepson bolted for the door.
Nash seized him by the back of his collar and hauled him over to Kelliam. “Sir Edgar, you say, Thayer? You are sure?”
“Yes, my lord. The very person. He was supposed to meet the gang later tonight to divide the goods.” Thayer stopped abruptly.
“The goods to be stolen from Wrotham Hall?”
“Yes, my lord,” the valet mumbled. He looked ready to cry.
Nash shook Edgar and threw him down at Kelliam’s feet. “You have one more gang member to secure tonight, then.”
“I have never heard a more preposterous thing in my life.” Edgar tried to rise and the Runner grasped his hand and helped him to his feet.
“We’ll have to see about that, Sir Edgar.” Kelliam nodded toward Thayer. “Are you the only one who had contact with him? Do the other members know about him?”
“I know nothing of this gang you speak of.” Edgar dusted off his jacket as if highly insulted. Yet his eyes flitted toward the door.
