by Cheryl Holt
He thought about her constantly, worried over where she was, if she was all right. Her rejection had pitched him into a gambling, drinking frenzy, but after he’d staggered back to sobriety and sanity his course was instantly clear.
He was mourning the loss of her and what she could have brought to his life. Why accept the ending she’d set in motion? Would he let her go without a fight?
To hell with Lady Felicia. To hell with Lord Stone and his debt. To hell with Michael’s enormous pride.
He would extricate himself from the debacle with Lord Stone, then spend every second convincing Maggie she had to be his, and he wouldn’t give her a minute’s peace until he had the answer he needed.
Her building was in the middle of the next block, and suddenly he was in a glorious, ecstatic hurry to speak with her. He spurred his horse into a trot, but as he reined in, the sight that greeted him was so bizarre that he glanced around, certain—in his distracted state—he’d wandered down the wrong street by mistake.
The mission was shuttered, the windows boarded up, a chain with a padlock barring the door. Even the ragtag sign Vicar Sterns had hung when he’d first bought the place had been removed.
What could have transpired? The worst feeling of dread swept through him. Had she been injured? Had she passed away?
When she’d stopped by the club and begged him to chase after her sister, she’d specifically said she’d wait for news. She’d been definite. There’d been no mention of her leaving, of her selling out or sneaking off.
To his chagrin, he couldn’t remember if she’d ever revealed who owned the property. Was it hers? If not, had she been evicted? He knew she was having financial trouble. Had she failed to pay the rent?
The prospect—that she might have been kicked out for being unable to pay—left him speechless and furious.
He would have helped her! He would have given her any amount of money. If a landlord had been bothering her, a quick visit from Ramsey would have fixed the entire situation.
But had she bothered to confide in him?
No, she had not!
He jumped down from his horse as a dozen street urchins rushed up, pleading to tend the animal for him. He tossed the reins to an older boy.
“What happened to Miss Wells?” he asked them. “Who saw?”
All of their hands went up, and the boy holding the reins said, “Some men took her away.”
“In a carriage?”
“Yes. They tied her wrists with a rope!”
“Was she under arrest?” Michael asked.
“She seemed to be.”
So…it wasn’t an injury or illness, but it might have been an eviction. She might have been adjudged a debtor. Was she in that much of a fiscal mess? Was she in prison? Was she so proud that she’d let herself be arrested for penury rather than seek his assistance?
“When was this?”
“Two days ago.”
“Who were the men? Did any of you know them?”
The children shook their heads, and the boy said, “Hadn’t seen them in the neighborhood before.”
Strangers, then. Strangers—who weren’t aware of the rules. Anyone living in the area wouldn’t have dared engage in mischief without obtaining Michael’s permission.
He walked to the door and kicked at the rotted wood. It fell away, the chain and lock dropping to the floor with a dull clinking sound.
Like a berserker, he burst in, mentally understanding that she wasn’t present, but determined to check anyway. He marched around the empty rooms, thinking the place seemed abandoned, as if it had been boarded up for years instead of days.
He climbed the stairs to her apartment and strolled through, but it didn’t appear as if anything was missing. He opened the wardrobe and riffled in her pitiful collection of clothes. Her gray dresses were there and, folded in a box in the corner, were the garments he’d purchased for their sojourn in the country.
He picked up the box, deciding to keep it for later, to have a few pretty items for her to wear once he found her. And he would locate her. He made a silent promise to her and to himself, and the idiots who’d taken her had better beware. If she’d been harmed in even the slightest way, they’d pay forever.
He stomped down the stairs, box tucked under his arm, and as he stepped into the common room a flurry of activity erupted outside. A coach had stopped out front, but he couldn’t imagine who would visit. The children moved away, clearing a path so a woman could approach, and his heart lurched in his chest.
“Maggie?” he said, but as the woman walked over the threshold, he said instead, “Lady Run?”
“Mr. Scott? What are you doing here?”
“Looking for Maggie Wells.”
“So am I. What on Earth happened?”
“I have no idea,” he replied, “but I intend to find out.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Evangeline stared at the empty dining room in what had been Maggie’s charity mission. The place was decrepit and in need of a coat of paint, but during her prior visit, it had been thriving with activity and moral purpose.
Now, the windows were boarded over, and there was a general air of abandonment. The front door was demolished, and Mr. Scott the only one on the premises.
“Was it a break in?” she asked him.
“No. Some of the children outside saw her taken away two days ago.”
“Taken to where?”
“It sounds as if she’s been arrested.”
“Arrested!” Evangeline huffed.
“Her hands were tied with a rope, and she was whisked away in a carriage.”
“I’ve known Maggie Wells since I was seven years old, and I can assure you she’d never commit a crime.”
“I’m wondering if she’d been swept up for penury.”
“Oh, no…”
People were incarcerated for being poor. It was a shame and a scandal, but it was the law. A debtor had to pay his bills, and it wasn’t a defense to say he had no money. The common feeling was that a person shouldn’t spend more than he had, and it was wrong to defraud a shopkeeper or landlord.
She staggered over to a bench and sank down. “Was her situation that dire?”
“She was having financial trouble, but I don’t know how bad it was.”
“I wish I’d stopped by sooner. She wrote to me, but I was out of town. The moment I returned, I came over.” She gestured around. “I can’t believe this.”
“Neither can I.”
“We have to locate her. If she’s having legal difficulty, I’ll be able to get her out of it. If no one will listen to me, they’ll certainly listen to my husband.”
Mr. Scott was still standing, and he was swaying, appearing dazed.
“Sit, would you?” she said. “I realize it’s horrid to mention this to a manly fellow such as yourself, but you look as if you might faint.”
“I’m fine. I’m…I’m…”
The sentence trailed off, and he pulled out the bench across from her and dropped onto it. His gaze was unfocused, as if he’d been rendered comatose or was suffering a malady. Was he ill? Was he prone to seizures?
In the stories she’d heard about him, he was considered tough as nails, and there’d never been the slightest hint of his having any weaknesses.
“Mr. Scott,” she quietly murmured, and when he didn’t respond, she repeated it more firmly. “Mr. Scott!”
As if he’d been in a stupor, he physically shook himself, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.
“Where were you?” she asked. “For a minute there, you were completely absent.”
“I’m sorry. Did I…ah…say anything?”
“No.”
He mumbled, “Thank God.”
“May I inquire as to your…interest in Maggie Wells? I’ve visited twice now, and you were here both times.”
“She’s a…friend.”
“A good friend?”
“I suppose you could describe it that way.”
T
he enigmatic reply concerned Evangeline. There were a hundred awful rumors swirling about Mr. Scott, each worse than the last. The members of the ton were agog over Felicia Gilroy having to marry him. Evidently he was a very shady, very notorious character with no honorable intentions toward anyone.
Why was he sniffing around Maggie?
“Are the two of you romantically involved? Is that it?” His eyes narrowed as if he’d scold her for her rude query, and she hastily added, “I apologize if I’m prying, but she seems to be all alone in the world. It would be easy for a dishonorable person to take advantage of her.”
He chuckled. “They don’t come anymore dishonorable than me.”
“You’re engaged to Lady Felicia. I was present at the party when your betrothal was announced. We met there.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Should I worry about Maggie? Or should I worry about Lady Felicia?”
He didn’t answer, but leaned forward, his elbows on the table. He studied her, and she returned his stare, studying him just as meticulously.
Though he enjoyed a very low reputation, and she probably should have been afraid of him, she wasn’t. There was a familiar aspect to him, as if they’d been closely acquainted forever, which was extremely peculiar. She didn’t really know much about him other than what she’d gleaned from gossip.
Her husband, Aaron, had pointed out that Mr. Scott looked just like Bryce. Mr. Scott was tall, handsome, and masculine as Bryce was tall, handsome, and masculine. Their facial features were exactly the same, the only difference being that Bryce had Evangeline’s blond hair, and Mr. Scott’s hair was dark.
But those blue eyes…
There weren’t many people who had eyes like that. Could they be related in some fashion?
“Where are you from, Mr. Scott?” She leaned on her elbows too, so they were nose to nose. “I was told you’re an orphan, but have you any information about your kin?”
Again, he didn’t respond, but continued to assess her. Finally he posed the oddest question. “Have you found your brother?”
“My brother?”
“Yes, you and your brother, Bryce, have another sibling, and you were separated from him when you were young. Aren’t you trying to locate him?”
“I am trying to locate him—them.”
“Them?”
“My twin brothers, Michael and Matthew Blair.”
“Matthew…Blair.”
“Yes.”
At her speaking the name Matthew, he seemed to fall into a trance, and he cocked his head as though he was hearing voices. For a nervous second, she glanced at the door, wondering if he was a lunatic, if he might be dangerous, but he exuded no impression of menace or peril.
“Mr. Scott!”
She snapped her fingers, the noise yanking him out of his spell.
“I beg your pardon.” He physically shook himself again. “I’m not myself today.”
“You have some unusual quirks, Mr. Scott. Is Lady Felicia aware of this…affliction of yours? Does it plague you often?”
But his reply was, “How were your brothers lost?”
“It’s a tragic tale, actually. I’m not sure I have time to tell it.”
“I want to know.”
She smiled a sad smile. It was difficult to confide that her mother had been a convicted felon, but her only crime had been loving a man who was too far above her. With Evangeline up-jumping into her own marriage, her character and motives in wedding Aaron were suspect. It wouldn’t burnish her halo to confess such a horrid event.
Yet she wasn’t ashamed of what had happened to her mother. She was angry about it, enraged by the unfairness and—despite Bryce not pursuing the matter—determined to obtain justice on her parents’ behalf. And Mr. Scott was genuinely curious. Considering his own past, he wouldn’t judge or condemn.
“My mother was an actress and singer,” she said.
“Ah…of course.” He added the oddest comment. “I remember now.”
“Remember what?”
He made a hurry up motion with his hand. “Go on.”
“My father should have been Earl of Radcliffe.”
Mr. Scott gasped. “Radcliffe, yes.”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“No.”
She could see why he was reputed to be such a successful gambler. He could hide every bit of his emotions, providing no clue what he was thinking. She scowled, deeming him more peculiar by the moment.
“They were madly in love, but his family didn’t approve.”
“They married, didn’t they?”
“Mr. Scott, do you know more about me than you’re telling?”
“No, but what happened to your parents? They’re not still alive, are they?”
“Well, my father is not. He passed away, but my mother was transported to Australia.”
“As a felon?”
“Yes.”
“On what charge?”
“My father had showered her with gifts and money. After he died, his relatives claimed she stole it.”
“Bastards.” Quickly, he muttered, “My apologies, Lady Run.”
“No, no, it’s all right. You’ve stated my opinion exactly.”
“And your mother? Have you learned any information about her?”
“No, but I’ve just started investigating.”
He frowned. “Might she be alive?”
“The chances are slim, but I’m hoping.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “My husband says I’m the eternal optimist.”
“What about your siblings? The twin brothers? How were you separated from them? Was it when your mother was transported?”
“Yes. A friend of my father’s, a Mr. Etherton, took custody of us for her. He arranged for us to attend different boarding schools. My brother, Bryce, and I arrived at ours, but the twins didn’t.”
“Why?”
“They were traveling with Mr. Etherton’s servants, and they spent the night at a coaching inn. There was a terrible fire, with a great deal of confusion. We’re certain they didn’t perish in the fire—”
“But the servants minding them died.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
He studied her as if he actually had the answer, then he shrugged. “I just guessed.”
“They vanished without a trace—even though Mr. Etherton searched for years. Again, I’m hopeful we’ll find them.”
She couldn’t bear to think of her brothers, those little lost lords cast to the winds of fate. She didn’t remember them, but Bryce said they’d been rambunctious, sturdy boys, devoted to each other, as if they were one person instead of two.
They’d resembled their handsome, dashing father rather than their mother, and they’d just celebrated their third birthday. Evangeline liked to imagine a happy ending for them, that a kindly, childless couple had found them wandering and taken them in. The more likely scenario was that they’d starved on the streets, or were murdered, or sent to a parish poorhouse where they’d passed away from lung fever.
A wave of anguish crept in, tears flooding her eyes, and she opened her reticule to retrieve a kerchief. As she yanked it out some of the contents plopped onto the table, among them a small statuette carved from ivory that had belonged to her mother. It had always set on her mother’s harpsichord.
Mr. Scott froze again, in that bizarre manner he had. He gaped at the statue, then reached out as if he might trace his finger over it, but he didn’t. His hand hovered, almost as if the statue had magical powers and he was afraid to touch it.
“I have to go,” he suddenly said, and he rose so hastily that the bench he’d been sitting on toppled over behind him.
She gazed up at him, feeling inordinately glum that he would leave so abruptly, that their conversation was over. Though she couldn’t explain it, she was drawn to him as if they possessed a deep, potent bond.
“What about Maggie?” she asked.
“I’ll find her. I swear it to you.”
> “And your friendship? What will become of it?”
“If I have my way, she and I will get a lot closer.”
“Have you honorable intentions?”
“Plenty of honorable ones and no dishonorable ones.”
She couldn’t decide it that would be a blessing or not, but then Maggie had many problems in her life, and Michael Scott didn’t look as if he had any problems at all. No one would dare trouble him, which meant Maggie would always be safe under his protection.
“What of Lady Felicia?”
He didn’t reply. Instead he asked, “Your brother, Bryce, should he be the Earl of Radcliffe now?”
“Why…yes, he should be,” she hesitantly admitted. “But he’s not. Our cousins inherited.”
She hadn’t divulged the more scurrilous details to others, and she’d already told Mr. Scott much more than she’d told anyone else. But it seemed a moment for sharing confidences, and he had an ability to draw out what she hadn’t planned to reveal.
“Will he fight to regain his birthright?” he asked.
“I don’t believe so. He was overwhelmed to learn the truth, and it would be so difficult to assert a claim all these years later.”
“Won’t he revenge himself on those who harmed your mother?”
“No,” she scoffed.
“I would.”
“Bryce isn’t a vengeful individual. He’s a singer and an actor—as our mother was. Mostly he’s a happy fellow. It would be out of character for him to be cruel or spiteful.”
“Would he like someone to do it for him?”
“Do what?”
“Kill the people who ruined your lives.”
“Kill…my father’s relatives?”
“Yes.”
She stared into his blue eyes—eyes that were so much like Bryce’s, so much like her own—and she felt as if she could read his mind. He was offering to murder her grandfather and uncle, and the realization was astonishing.
She’d never previously met a person with such vicious tendencies, and it was tempting to say yes, make them pay. But she wasn’t cruel or spiteful either.
“No one’s killing anyone, Mr. Scott. Bryce has decided to go adventuring in Africa.”
