by Wendy Vella
Charlotte looked down at the toes of her boots as guilty heat flushed her cheeks.
“I am head of my family, have raised two siblings, fought for my country, and am part of an investigative service that has cracked cases many could not, Miss Radley. I’m afraid you will have to work a lot harder to get something over me in the future.”
“The few noblemen I knew were a lot easier to fool, I assure you, my lord,” Charlotte said, lifting her head in time to see his smile. “But I shall heed your words and put my back into any further attempts.”
His reply was interrupted by the sound of carriage wheels.
“Where is the boy Fred now?”
“Outside. He has a distrust of noblemen and did not want to enter your house with me.”
“Wonderful,” Lord Needly said, moving to the door and opening it. “Another untrusting soul.”
The boy was sitting on the top step and got to his feet as he saw them, moving to Charlotte’s side. Tall and lanky, Fred was twelve, and had snow-white hair that had not an ounce of curl and hung to his shoulders.
“Is all well, Charlotte?”
“All is well, Fred,” Charlotte patted the thin shoulder. “Lord Needly will help us find the girls.”
“Good evening, Fred,” Lord Needly said to the boy, who in turn said nothing. “I don’t bite, Fred; in fact, some say I’m quite a nice man.”
“Come, Fred, you can say hello, surely?” Charlotte prompted the boy.
“Hello.” The word was dragged from him reluctantly, and Charlotte knew that, like hers, his distrust ran deep.
“I don’t want your mistress walking through London alone at night again, Fred. Can you make sure that doesn’t happen?”
“Now wait just—”
“Yes, and I told her she shouldn’t,” the boy interrupted. “It’s right dangerous, and she’s already been threatened afore.”
“Has she?” Charlotte felt Lord Needly’s eyes on her. “Tell me about that, Fred.”
“The carriage is here. I have no wish to keep the poor driver, who has already been dragged from his bed, a minute longer than necessary, so make haste, Fred.” Charlotte pushed the boy toward the waiting carriage. She did not want this conversation to continue. Lord Needly beat her to the door, reaching around her and opening it. He then took her arm and helped her in, only releasing it when she was seated.
“Thank you.” Charlotte drew her cloak tight around her; even though it was summer, there was still a chill in the air at such an hour.
“I will call as soon as I have news, Miss Radley.” He bowed in the open doorway and then the door closed and Charlotte managed to inhale her first deep, steady breath.
“He’s right about that, you know.”
“We’ve talked this over, Fred. I need to get about London and do not have the money for a hackney.”
“In the day you can walk about wiv me, but not at night.”
Fred was going to be a forceful man, Charlotte thought, looking at his set face. He had come to her two years ago, broken and beaten by a nobleman, and he had never left.
“All right, I shall show more caution in the future. Will that appease you?”
“Some,” he said, before running his hand over the soft velvet seats. “So this is how them nobs travel.”
Charlotte watched, finding a smiled as he investigated every inch of the carriage, only stopping as it pulled up at the end of their lane because it was too narrow to drive down.
“Thank you, sir, and my apologies for having to get out of bed to drive me home at such an hour,” she said, looking up at the driver after she and Fred had stepped down.
“Lord Needly pays me to be ready at a moment’s notice, ma’am. ’Tis no bother at all.” He tipped his hat and drove away.
Dear Lord that man had been a force of nature, Charlotte thought, when she finally reached her cold bed. Just being in the same room with him had been unsettling. Big and powerful were words that she had heard connected with his name, and he was both of those things, but so much more also. Charlotte rather thought that she was glad he would want nothing further to do with her after the girls were found, and why would he? She was nothing, a do-gooding woman of base birth. Nothing to nobody but those who needed her most, and for Charlotte that would always be enough. It had to be.
Chapter Three
Marcus watched his carriage carrying Miss Radley and Fred until it had left the street, and then walked slowly back inside. He'd told his driver that no matter the lady's orders, he was to take her home, as she was in no fit state to be anywhere else.
What the hell was that woman's story? In all honestly, he could say he'd never before come across someone quite like her. Young and beautiful, she had made no attempt to flirt or be coy with him. She had been there on a mission, and that was to save her girls. She held herself like any woman of noble birth and spoke in a soft, cultured tone. She’d learned those traits from someone, and Marcus wondered who.
“It's three in the morning, you idiot,” he muttered. Of course she had not been there to flirt with him. Yet most women did just that when they encountered Marcus. They smiled, fluttered their eyelashes, and even raised their skirts to show him their ankles. He was a man who liked women, and he was a master of flirtation, but he had never let a woman close—no woman had even made his heart flutter. He had wondered if love was beyond him, yet thought perhaps it was too late to give up on that dream.
Marcus liked to be in control, and love played a part in taking that away, but he’d wondered if it would be worth it, especially after seeing his friend’s capitulation. Nick had married nine months earlier and was now very much in love with his wife, Grace.
His problem was that from a young age he had been the head of his family. Every decision for his family and their estates and fortune had fallen to him. He had gone away to fight for this country, much to the horror of his siblings, and yet in that he had been firm. Like his friends, he’d known his worth and had proved it many times by infiltrating enemy lines.
His mind went back to Miss Radley. He needed to know more about the woman and to do that, he needed to rouse his friends, especially Nick, who knew most things about most people—he was the bloodhound of the Lords of Night Street. Although, he wasn't sure that his friend would know the exact color of her hair and eyes, and for some reason, that was something he wanted to know.
“Can I be of service to you, my lord?”
“I apologize for keeping you from your bed so late, Chadley, but fear I am going to delay that further. Can you please have food and coffee, lots of coffee, brought to my study as soon as possible?”
“Of course, I shall see to it at once.”
Pushing open the door seconds later, Marcus roused his friends, and after much grumbling and curses, they were all sitting around the table.
“I had a visitor,” he said, and began to explain what Miss Radley had told him.
“And you said then and there that we would help?” Jacob yawned loudly.
“Yes.” Marcus nodded, but said nothing further. They all knew he would not have done so had he not deemed Miss Radley's case a worthy one.
“She's beautiful, isn't she?” Nick added. “I can see the interest in you. Not that you would have taken the case because of that, but something about this Miss Radley has intrigued you, Marcus.”
“Two women were abducted from the streets, Nicholas, and Miss Radley was assaulted, surely that alone is reason enough?” Marcus said.
“Of course it is,” Jacob soothed, “but Nick's right, she has fired your interest. We all know each other well enough to see that.”
“Miss Radley,” Nick then said, rocking back on his chair. “Where do I know that name from?”
They all sat silently waiting while Nick dragged the information from the depths of his mind. “I wonder if she's any relation to the Duke of Marlton.”
“Why would she be?” Marcus said. Nick knew everything and everyone and the connections between each.
His mind was a wonderful thing; no matter how inconsequential, everything was filed away and remembered for if and when it was required.
“My uncle was his friend, and I was staying at his estate keeping Cousin Elizabeth company while her parents threw one of their debauchery parties.” Nick’s eyes rose to the ceiling as he spoke. “I remember looking out her bedroom window and watching the Duke and a woman step from a carriage. Beth told me it was the Duke of Marlton and his mistress, Miss Radley.”
“Radley is not a terribly common name. However, I’m sure there is more than one in London, so I’m not sure how you leaped from mistress to the connection with the Miss Radley who visited here,” Marcus said.
“The mistress had a child, a daughter, and he took her into his household, as he had no other children,” Nick said.
“Good Lord, did he?” Jacob shook his head. “The Duke is known for his debauchery and misdeeds, rather than acts of kindness.”
Nick nodded. “True, the man’s a pig, but the mistress begged him, from what I gather. So he acknowledged the child, and if memory serves, later betrothed her to Squire Lorne and then just months before the wedding, she ran away. The Duke was enraged, apparently disinherited her. Lorne bandied it about she wasn't right in the head and beneath him, being a by-blow, and went on to marry some eighteen-year-old debutante.”
“What happened to her then?” Marcus felt sick at the prospect of Miss Radley wed to sixty-year-old Squire Lorne, if indeed she was the woman in question.
“No one knows. She just vanished, but I remember hearing a rumor that some distant aunt had taken her in, but that was never substantiated.”
“What about the mother?”
“Oh, she died when the child was young. Apparently, she lived on the Duke’s estate and the duchess allowed this as she didn’t want the Duke’s lecherous intentions turned on her.”
“How the hell do you find out this information?” Leo questioned Nick.
“I have a memory, as you know, that does not let go of any fact no matter how insignificant. For some reason, people also tell me things.”
“What is her first name?” Marcus asked.
“Who?” Nick looked at him.
“The Miss Radley I saw tonight, if indeed she is the Duke’s wayward daughter.
“Charlotte, I believe.”
“How long ago did she leave the Duke?”
“Seven years I believe.”
Marcus mulled over what Nick had told him as his friends talked. Charlotte. The name suited her, and if she were the Duke’s daughter, it would explain why she spoke as she did. He would know more when he called on her tomorrow; for now, he and his friends had a plan to form.
Chapter Four
Eight hours later, he stepped down from his carriage at the end of a narrow lane.
“Return in an hour, Ben,” he told his driver.
Marcus knew that this lane held two brothels, one at each end, with a gambling den a ten-minute walk away. The thought of Miss Radley living here made the hair on his neck stand upright. How the hell had she survived, surrounded by prostitutes, criminals, and thieves?
Vile smells and refuse greeted him as he walked. The buildings rose high on either side, making the narrow lane dark even as the sun shone.
“Good day,” he said as a woman leaned over the railing to look down on him, her breasts nearly falling out of her bodice.
“Come looking for a bit of fun, lovely?”
“I’m seeking the residence of Miss Radley, ma’am.”
“What do you want with Charlotte?”
The woman’s words were the confirmation Marcus needed that Miss Radley was indeed the Duke of Marlton’s daughter.
“I am a friend, and she is in need of my help.” Marcus stopped to look up at the woman.
“I’m trying to bloody sleep, Nancy, shut your gabbing.”
Marcus nodded to the second woman who appeared beside the first. This one had black hair and wore a silk chemise and nothing else.
“Ooooh, hello, my lovely,” the woman called down to him.
“He’s here to see Charlotte.”
“Why?” Like the first, suddenly the second woman was no longer friendly.
“She’s a friend and in need of my help,” Marcus said again.
“Well, you mind you look out for her because she’s a special lady that one, even though there’s some who think she ain't. Lives at twenty-two, she does, you keep walking, and you’ll find it.”
“Thank you, ladies.” He bowed deeply, making them giggle.
“Watch those boots, my lovely, it’s filthy underfoot.”
“I will, and thank you again.”
Marcus felt eyes on him as he walked, but kept his pace even. He had his walking stick with a blade inside should he need it. Stopping at a tall narrow residence, he saw the number 22 on the dark-paneled door. The building was old and worn, in need of a coat of paint and the replacement of several boards. Windows were cracked, and he could still smell the stench of the manure Miss Radley had claimed was hurled on her doorstep. The entire lane was bleak and unwelcoming, and Marcus grappled with the fact that she had chosen to live there of all places. Lifting his walking stick, he rapped it twice on the front door.
“Hello.”
“Good day, Fred,” Marcus said to the boy he had met in the early hours of the morning. “I wish to speak with Miss Radley, please.”
“She's up there.” The boy gave him a wary look before pointing to the stairs. “It’s family time and Charlotte likes anyone who comes to sit at the table, so turn left when you reach the top.”
“Thank you,” Marcus said, following the boy’s hand.
“And will you not be joining family time, Fred?”
“I had my tea, and now I got errands to run,” he said, walking out the open door and closing it behind him.
Taking the stairs, Marcus looked around the dark walls as he climbed. It was as uninviting as the outside, and cold. As he climbed, he heard the hum of voices grow louder. At the top, he turned left, removing his hat and tucking it under his arm as he reached the door from behind which the noise was coming. He knocked and waited. Knocking again when no one answered, Marcus didn't wait any longer, instead turning the handle. He opened the door and stopped on the threshold.
This room was painted white, and around the walls were bright pictures. The floors had scattered rag rugs. Unlike the entrance and the façade, this room felt homely. His eyes fell on a large table around which four people sat, three women and Miss Radley, with an infant in her lap.
Her hair was a deep brown and lay in a single thick braid across one shoulder. She was smiling at the infant she was feeding what looked to be a slice of bread and jam. She sat there in a drab gray dress while around her the other women wore bright, gaudy colors. Their bodices were low, lips painted in vivid colors, and she looked sweet and pure. Where the hell did that thought come from? Marcus had no idea.
“Miss Radley.” Suddenly, he was the focus of everyone’s attention.
“Lord Needly!” She quickly handed the infant to the person closest and rose to greet him. “Do you have news?”
Her eyes were gray and circled with rings of black beneath the sweep of dark feathered brows.
“Yes, I have news.”
“So soon? Surely you have been up all night investigating?”
“Not all night.”
“Let me introduce you to Miss Dolly, Miss Samantha, and Miss Henrietta, Lord Needly.” She waved her hand at each woman as she introduced them.
Marcus bowed and acknowledged the women, sure he had never been introduced to prostitutes in such a formal manner before.
“Have you found Molly and Helen?” one of the women said.
“Not as yet,” Marcus said. “Is there anything you ladies can tell me that may help with the search?”
“Did she tell you that they tried to take her?” The woman who had spoken was looking at Miss Radley.
“No, she didn’t tel
l me that,” Marcus said, doing the same.
“Because it was not connected, Dolly,” Miss Radley said. “You ladies watch the baby please, while I take Lord Needly to the office. I shall return soon.”
“Take your time, Miss Radley, I’m sure I would,” one of the women said, winking at him.
“That will do, Samantha, thank you,” Miss Radley said, pouring a cup of tea. “Do you take milk?”
“Thank you.” He nodded, wondering who had tried to take her.
“I fear we are out of sugar, perhaps some honey to sweeten it?”
“No, just milk, thank you.”
She lifted the cup and a plate on which she placed two scones that had his mouth watering, and then she was walking from the room with Marcus on her heels.
He thought that her dress had once been in style, but that was some years ago. The bodice was snug over her breasts and worn at the hem and cuffs, which were a few inches too short. The toes of her black boots were worn, and no matter how much polish she applied, there was no disguising the scuff marks. She’d tied a black piece of wool around the end of the long thick braid that hung to her waist.
“We shall find a few minutes’ peace in here, Lord Needly.”
He found himself in a bedroom, much to his surprise. The bed was narrow and neatly made with a blanket of many knitted squares of colored wool. There was a small chair beside it with a book and lamp, and a cabinet held a brush and mirror. Miss Radley kept walking, and he realized there was a door at the end of the room, and it was in there she led him.
“My office,” she said, waving him into a seat.
Also small, it had no window and was the size of his dressing room and equally as dark. She placed the tea and scones before him and then sat in the chair behind a worn desk upon which papers were stacked. He watched her fingers fiddle with the lamp and then there was light.
“Please tell me what you have learned, Lord Needly.”
She was beautiful, Marcus realized, even dressed in the shabby clothes and lacking the extra pounds that were needed to reach a healthy weight. Her face was delicate, her lips forming a perfect pout, and the thought of her in the hands of Squire Lorne was not a pleasant one.
