My Darling, My Disaster (Lords of Essex)

by Morgan, Angie

  She clenched her teeth and went back to work on the lock. After several tries, the mechanism clicked, and the door swung open. Success! She let herself into the darkened room and shut the door, locking it behind her. She had to search quickly. There was a chance the maid could return—or worse, Viktor himself.

  She lit a lamp and riffled through a small stack of newspapers on his desk, attempting to leave them as neatly arranged as they’d been before. Next, Lana tried the desk drawers. Then the bureau drawers. Then beneath his mattress. Then his trunks at the foot of his bed. A hectic quarter of an hour later, she was beside herself and empty-handed. She had found nothing of import. No personal papers, no letters, nothing. This had been a fruitless errand, and she felt like a fool for believing it would prove otherwise. She was about to leave when the sound of footsteps made her freeze. She listened and prayed they continued past Viktor’s door.

  They didn’t.

  “Bollocks,” she swore. She was trapped.

  With a hushed breath, she shoved herself into the narrow armoire she’d just given up searching. She left the door slightly cracked, considering it couldn’t close anyway, not from the inside. She slowed her breathing and listened as the door unlocked and opened. The lamp! She’d left it lit on the desk. Lana cursed herself and clenched her fists as two men entered. She didn’t recognize the first man, who wore a heavy-brimmed hat and crossed to the side of the room out of her line of sight. But she did recognize the second man. Tall and beefy shouldered, with dark hair and a thick mustache, both waxed into glossy perfection.

  It was her uncle, Count Volkonsky.

  The stirrings of true fear curdled in the pit of her stomach. If he was here, then that meant Viktor had summoned him. Because he suspected she and Irina were close? Or did he believe he had found them already? Her heart sank as she strained to hear their exchange from the suffocating confines of the closet.

  “It is not like Viktor to leave a lamp burning,” her uncle muttered as he approached the desk.

  “Let’s get on with this, shall we?” the man beyond her vision said, speaking with a heavy French accent. “The baron promised the first payment this evening.”

  Her uncle turned from the desk, seeming to forget the lamp. “Of course. He sends his regrets for his absence, but he is exploring a new lead. You shall be compensated as agreed—a quarter now, and the remainder when your task is complete.”

  “You have not told me where I am going,” the man said.

  “North. A few days’ ride at the most.”

  “How north, exactly?” the Frenchman asked.

  “Cumbria. The estate of Lord Langlevit.”

  A spear of ice plunged into Lana’s chest, and she clamped a fist to her mouth to keep from crying out. Oh God, no. He’d found her. He’d found Irina.

  “Langlevit?” the man hissed. A thread of fear colored the word.

  “Do not worry, my sources confirm he is here and not due to quit London any time soon,” the count said. “Only his aging mother, a small staff, and a young girl are in the residence. The girl is not to be harmed, but feel free to eliminate any other obstacles should it become necessary.”

  Lana bit into the heel of her palm. Irina was in danger, as was the countess. She watched as her treacherous uncle opened one of the trunks Lana had searched and came up with a leather pouch. He handed it to the man.

  Her limbs started to numb and cramp, but she held herself as still as possible. The man standing with her uncle was a cold-blooded murderer. If Lana were discovered now, she would be taken. And then this man would set out for Cumbria. For her sister.

  Hardly daring to breathe, Lana waited for several more minutes while the two men completed their conversation. The lamp was extinguished, and their voices faded as they left the room. Lana slumped to the floor of the armoire, her useless legs collapsing beneath her. She dragged a shattered breath into her lungs as her tears broke free. Never had she felt so alone or so powerless. With Langlevit having just left London for his meeting with the cryptographer from St. Petersburg, there was only one other person she could turn to. One other person she could trust.

  She did trust Gray. And she wanted to go to him, right then, more than anything. She wanted to run from this wretched hotel, back to the safety of her hiding place as lady’s maid at Bishop House.

  Only it wasn’t safe. Not if Viktor was still there. Lana would have to risk it, though. Viktor wasn’t her only enemy in London anymore. Her uncle and the nameless, faceless Frenchman had joined in the hunt.

  And it appeared Irina was their first target.

  …

  “What do you mean she’s not here?” Gray stormed.

  It was late. Close to midnight, and the last of his father’s guests had just departed. Gray had gone directly to his sister’s rooms, knowing she must have arrived home at some point during the evening, perhaps while the men were still closed up in the billiards room.

  Only he was now staring at his sister being tended to by Mary, the undermaid.

  Brynn stared at him with wide eyes that quickly narrowed with suspicion. “Why do you care so very much where Lana is?”

  He scowled, realizing he’d been far too transparent. He did not trust Mary not to go running downstairs and relaying the news that Lord Northridge had been asking after Lana. “In case you haven’t noticed,” he began slowly, forming his excuse, “there’s a masked madman running amok about town. I’m merely concerned for her safety, as you should be.” Brynn paled considerably at his harsh words, and Gray regretted his outburst.

  “She said she felt unwell while we were out and asked to return home.” Brynn paused. “Colton drove her back and saw her inside. Perhaps she felt better and went for one of her walks.”

  Unwell, his foot. She’d used that excuse before, and he was certain that was what it had been this time. “Perhaps.”

  Gray stalked outside, hell-bent on finding the object of his thoughts. He’d make sure she was not ill after all, and then he’d blister her with a piece of his mind for making him crazy with worry. The dinner with Zakorov had left him on edge, and after the men had taken their leave, his only thought had been to make sure Lana was secure. Only she had not been in when Brynn had summoned her, and it was now past the housekeeper’s strict curfew. She was out there. Alone, perhaps. His blood simmered anew.

  He hurried to the mews, slamming the door open on its hinges so hard it crashed into the wall behind it. He would wake Colton if necessary and find out what the man knew. Someone would have seen her leaving.

  Colton and a few of the stable boys and footmen were seated around a card table set up in the center aisle between the rows of horse stalls. They saw Gray enter and jumped to their feet, clasping their hands, still holding cigarettes and cards, behind their backs. Their shoulders went stiff, and their chins hiked with respect, and a little bit of fear. The last thing Gray wanted to do was draw attention to his interest in Lana, but he had to have answers.

  “Colton,” Gray said. The driver tensed. “You saw Lady Briannon’s maid home earlier after their outing?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Did she leave again?”

  Colton frowned. “No, my lord. Not that I am aware of.”

  One of the footmen opened his mouth to chime in. “Is Lady Lana missing, m’lord?”

  Lady Lana? Gray’s brows snapped together, and he eyed the footman. Tall. Lanky. Young. “James, am I right?”

  The boy nodded.

  “What do you know?” Gray demanded.

  He blinked and stammered the beginnings of a response before uttering something useful. “I didn’t think she’d go anywhere tonight, not with the Russian fellow here. Thought she’d be trying to get a peek at him.”

  Gray’s heart fizzled in his chest. “Zakorov?”

  James’s eyes brightened. “Yes, m’lord, that’s the one.”

  “Why would she want a peek at him?”

  James shrugged. “I dunno. She was asking me all about hi
m.”

  “Why you?” Gray asked. The boy was a footman.

  “Since I delivered the invitations for the dinner, m’lord. I met him only briefly though, so I didn’t have much to tell Lady Lana, o’course.”

  The invitations. Oh, hell.

  “You told her where Zakorov is staying,” Gray stated. James nodded.

  Good God, she’d gone to find him.

  The footman, Colton, and the other stable boys stood in nervous silence, waiting for an order. Gray gave them one.

  “Saddle my horse at once.”

  Gray couldn’t wait patiently for Pharaoh to be readied, though. He’d moved in to tighten the girth himself when a slim figure passing by the open mews doors caught his eye. He stopped cold. The person was wearing a heavy cloak and brimmed hat, but it was not a man. He knew the slope of those shoulders so intimately that it wouldn’t matter what she was wearing. It was her.

  Stark relief flooded him as he ran from the mews and into the stable yard.

  “Lana,” he called, and the retreating figure drew to a stop. She turned as he approached, and raised her eyes to his. His relief deserted him. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  “You are dismissed,” he called to the stable boy, James, as well as Colton, who had followed him into the yard. “I won’t need a horse after all.”

  They slipped back inside the mews and shut the doors.

  Lana’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, and for one terrifying instant, Gray worried that she had indeed crossed paths with Zakorov upon his return from the dinner. In the same moment he realized that if Zakorov had had her in his grasp, he wouldn’t have let her go. Gray took her firmly but gently by the elbow and steered her deeper into the shadows of the stable yard, near the brick exterior of the mews. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lana cut him off. “I need your help.”

  She was in trouble, then.

  “Where were you?” He couldn’t keep the curtness from his voice, his worry and irritation growing in equal measure as he took disapproving notice of the men’s breeches beneath the opening of her voluminous cloak. His sister’s, no doubt. His frown deepened.

  Lana swallowed, inhaling several deep breaths, as if to settle herself before answering. “Gray, please. Just listen. I know what you’re going to say, but I couldn’t stand by and do nothing any longer.” She paused and wrung her hands. “I didn’t want to drag you into this, but I don’t have anyone else to turn to. I don’t have anyone else I can trust to care.”

  He forced himself to calm, guessing how much it had taken for her to open to him in the first place. “Go on.”

  “My sister is in danger, and so is the family she is with,” she rushed out.

  “The one in Cumbria?”

  “Yes.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Explain.”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I overheard two men talking about going after her.”

  “Where were you?”

  She let out a nervous sigh. “In Baron Zakorov’s rooms at the Stevens Hotel.”

  Ah. Now he understood the reason for her clothing. She’d taken it upon herself to not only find Zakorov’s hotel, but to go into it. Into men’s lodgings in the middle of London. Alone.

  As if she could sense his imminent explosion, she placed her small palm to the center of his chest. “I know what you’re going to say, Gray, and yes, it was foolish and reckless of me. But I would do it again if it allowed me to keep my sister from harm. These men will stop at nothing.”

  He fought the emotion barreling through him at the light press of her fingers. “What men?” he asked.

  Lana drew a long breath. “One of them was a Frenchman—I don’t know his name. The other was Count Volkonsky, the princesses’ uncle.”

  “Are you certain it was Volkonsky?”

  “Yes,” she answered, her tear-filled eyes dropping to his chest. “I saw him a number of times at Volkonsky Palace.”

  Of course. When she’d been in service there.

  “And they are after your sister?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes. “We both helped the princesses escape, and these men will use her by any means necessary to get to them. I’ve been safe here, but she…”

  A shattered cry escaped Lana’s lips, and a second palm joined the first, fisting into his lapels as if she no longer had the strength to stand on her own two feet. Gray couldn’t help himself. He wrapped his arms about her and gathered her close. The strong, proud Lana he knew crumbled into a weeping, broken version of herself. She sobbed in earnest, dampening his shirtfront, her body shuddering with anguish. She’d never fallen apart like this with him before.

  She had always kept him at a safe distance, where she could maintain at least a little control over what he knew and how much she divulged. The need to maintain control was something he understood deeply. There had been moments with Lana when he had let go. And now here she was doing the same thing. Asking—begging—for his help. He couldn’t turn his back on her. Not now. No matter how furious he was that she’d knowingly endangered herself.

  “I have a man,” he said softly. “I’ll send him to Cumbria.” Gray tilted her tear-stained face up to his. “Which estate?”

  Shadows rushed across her glistening eyes. “The Earl of Langlevit.”

  Although deep down he’d already known, hearing the name fall from her lips was a blow to the gut. Gray curbed the sudden and unwelcome surge of jealousy. He should be grateful that someone like Langlevit had been helping Lana and her sister. After all, it was because of him that Lana had found employment, and she and her sister had remained safe all these months. It was because of him that Gray had known to take Zakorov’s potential danger seriously.

  “I’ll send someone at once. He will make sure that your sister is protected.”

  The relief that filled her eyes and her instant sob of gratitude took Gray’s breath and wrenched it from his lungs. She tipped her head forward, touching it to his chest, just above where her fingertips still rested. “Thank you.”

  His fingers rose to stroke the hair at her temple. Lana stirred, as if realizing exactly how intimately she and Gray were standing, but he was unwilling to release his hold just yet. She felt too good in his arms. She rubbed her forehead against him. The gentle nudges from Lana seeking comfort resonated in more than one place within his body. Knowing it was neither the time nor the place, Gray fought for self-restraint, but he could never seem to control himself where she was concerned.

  He cleared his throat and inched backward slightly, alleviating the sensual press of her trim body against his. “Lana, if Zakorov is sending someone to Cumbria to fetch your sister, that means he has uncovered your part in the princesses’ disappearance. And if he has found your sister, he will find you next—if he hasn’t already.”

  His presence at Bishop House that evening felt even more calculated now. Was he watching the residence as they spoke? Waiting for Lana to show herself?

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “Langlevit is giving aid to the princesses, I take it?” he asked.

  She stopped kneading her head into his chest, and a silent moment lapsed before she tried to move away. Again, Gray wouldn’t give her more than a few inches of wiggle room.

  “Are they in Cumbria as well?” he pushed.

  “I cannot tell you where they are.”

  He dug his fingers into her shoulders, wanting to shake her until she saw sense. Until she told him everything. “You trust Langlevit with that information but not me? Why?”

  She was ice again, her body rigid and her eyes cast low.

  “You dressed as a man and snuck into Zakorov’s rooms to do what, exactly? No. Don’t answer,” he said when she parted her lips to form some pallid excuse. “You want my help but you don’t want to tell me the whole truth. You’d rather put your own life at stake than trust in me.” He released her arms, hoping his grip hadn’t hurt her. “Honestly, Lana, even if I gave you a scalpel, you wouldn’t be able to castrat
e me any better.”

  She stared at him with both shock and defense. “You don’t understand. You can’t. I do trust you, and I want…”

  He arched a brow as he waited out her pause. After a few seconds, he prodded her along. “You want what?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I’ll tell you what I want then,” he said, bringing her closer again and, unexpectedly, without resistance. “You won’t like it, and you’ll definitely argue with me. But you need to hide. Until those letters you mentioned can be ciphered.”

  Lana frowned up at him. “I am hiding.”

  He shook his head, willing her to remain calm as he said it. “Not any longer. Not if Zakorov knows you are here. Lana, you must leave. Resign your post and go. I have a hunting lodge in Derbyshire, left to me by one of my mother’s uncles. You can stay there. It’s safe and secluded. No one ever thinks of it.”

  “No.” Lana pulled away. “I cannot run again, not when we are so close to having proof against Zakorov and my—”

  She looked up at him as if she’d just swallowed a fly. Yet another drawn-out pause made him arch his brow, again. “Your what?”

  Lana didn’t answer, and she was saved from having to. The sound of an approaching whistle caused her to leap farther away from Gray, but it was only James peeking around the wooden door to the mews. Still, it was opportunity enough for her to take her leave through one of the side doors. Damn it.

  He’d known she wouldn’t immediately capitulate to his suggestion that she stay in his Derbyshire lodge. It wasn’t entirely rustic, but it was secluded, as he’d promised. She would not be bothered there. But her own safety was obviously not her priority. Her sister’s was. Lana would do whatever she thought she needed to do to protect her. She was headstrong and protective to a fault, but Gray knew that he would do the same if it were Brynn. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and beckoned the footman forward.

  James grinned in the direction of the door through which Lana had just disappeared. “Was Lady Lana wearing breeches, m’lord?”