She should get up now, but it seemed like such an effort. Her arms and legs felt heavy. She blinked, suddenly noticing that the flames of the candelabrum had gone blurry. The whole room seemed strange, as if it were underwater.
And Lord Shefield, how peculiar he looked. He’d taken off his, mask, and she could finally see his eyes. They were gray, and as cold and chilling as a stormy sky. He leaned over her and smiled, and Caroline abruptly knew that Devon had been right about the murderer coming for her.
Fear clawed at her benumbed mind. She tried to call for help, but her dry lips wouldn’t seem to move. She saw Shefield reach for her, and she tried to struggle. Her limbs wouldn’t function. From a distance, she was aware of being carried. The room whirled around, and Caroline gave in to the suffocating dizziness.
Twelve
“You should see Lord Batson’s new cattle,” Christian said as he and Devon entered the drawing room. “Right bang-up grays they are, and fast as the wind. He’s already wagered me that he can drive ‘em to Ipswich in less than four hours.”
“He’s mad.” Devon took a seat by the fire and gestured for a servant to bring them refreshments. “At that pace, he’s likely to break his neck if he hits a bad stretch of road.”
“I’ve already put ten thousand guineas down. Would you like to get in on it, Dev?”
Devon shook his head. “You’re as touched as Batson. Don’t you have anything better to do than make idle wagers?”
Christian shrugged. “Some mornings I can scarce get out of bed, life’s such a bore. I’m always seeking fresh amusements.”
“Perhaps what you need is not amusements, but a sense of a purpose.”
“Like you, Dev?” Christian asked sardonically. “You’re such a stuffy old man these days. Planning these quaint little parties, going to bed early, staying away from the clubs. It sickens me to see you turning into such a cake to please your wife, luscious piece though she is.”
“I didn’t have this party to please Caroline.”
“Why then?”
Devon struggled with the urge to tell his friend about the murders, to describe how he’d suddenly been caught up in matters more serious than daredevil races. He decided against it. There were other ways to explain his behavior that didn’t involve revealing the malevolent web surrounding him. “I have a son, and he deserves a father who can hold his head up in society. I won’t make the same mistakes my sire did.”
Christian grinned. “I forget what a noble bastard you are, Devon. Quentin and I talk about it now and then. He thinks you’re an utter fool to throw your money away on a half-Irish brat born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“I know what Quentin thinks,” Devon said tightly. “From the beginning, he urged me leave Rafe in Ireland. I won’t do it. Rafe may be Irish, but he’s my son. I won’t cheat him out of his heritage!”
“Calm down, Dev. I don’t think ill of your devotion to your son. In fact, I believe it’s damned admirable.” Christian made a rueful face. “Maybe if my father had ever given a fig for me, I wouldn’t have turned out such a wicked wastrel. As it is, I’m doomed to be what I am.”
Devon’s nodded, barely hearing his friend’s words. He would never forget arguing heatedly with Quentin when he’d decided to bring Rafe back from Ireland. Harberry had insisted that Devon would be sorry if he tried to raise “that little mick bastard” as his son.
His jaw tightened at the memory. Quentin had an ugly streak of prejudice. He thought commoners inferior to the noble classes, that they were little more than lackeys who existed for the purpose of serving the needs of their betters. He despised tradesmen and cits most of all.
Devon paused, his brandy raised halfway to his lips. What must Quentin think of Caroline? Despite her fortune, she was a cit. Had she somehow charmed Quentin into forgetting her father’s merchant background? Or was Quentin hiding his animosity in deference to Devon’s feelings?
If Quentin still adhered to his bigoted beliefs, what might he say to Caroline while they were alone together?
Devon put down his drink and rose. It was time to check on his wife. He didn’t want Quentin to upset her.
“Now what, Dev?” Christian asked in exasperation. “Where are you flying off to?”
“I need to see to something,” Devon said. He left the library and entered the ballroom. Observing no sign of Caroline, he hurried to the supper room and ran into Quentin coming out. “Where’s Caroline?” he demanded.
“Probably resting comfortably in her bedchamber by now. She wasn’t feeling quite the thing, so I had a footman help her upstairs.”
Devon started for the stairway to the third floor. On the landing, he saw Pennington at his post. “Has the countess come past here?” he asked.
“No, your lordship. Last I saw her, she was with some tall gent dressed in black and silver. I saw them go into the door off to the left.” He pointed to the entrance to the supper room. “I should have gone down to check on her, but I thought the man was a friend of yours.” Pennington got to his feet, clutching the banister to support his bad leg. “Has somethin’ gone wrong, sir?”
Devon took a deep breath. Perhaps the footman hadn’t taken Caroline upstairs but helped her into another room. There was no reason to assume she was missing. No reason at all—except the terrible dread he felt.
He rushed down the stairs and found Quentin and Christian in the ballroom. “Did you find her?” Quentin asked.
“No.”
“Well, she must be somewhere,” Christian said. “Perhaps she’s in the entryway saying goodbye to your guests.”
Devon gave Quentin an accusing look. “You said she took ill. That a footman had escorted her to her bedchamber.”
Harberry shrugged. “I only know what she said. Perhaps she felt better and changed her mind.”
Devon turned away from his friends and once more hurried from the ballroom. Reaching the foyer of the town house, he accosted Walters by the door. “Lady Caroline,” he asked breathlessly. “Have you seen her?”
The butler frowned at him. “No, your lordship. Several of the guests expressed their consternation that they didn’t have the opportunity to bid her farewell. I thought it very odd. Madam has always been so aware of her social responsibilities in the past. When her father entertained, she always stayed by the door until all the guests had left.”
Devon swore emphatically.
Walters gave him a startled look. “Beg pardon, sir?”
“Lady Northrup is missing,” Devon exclaimed. “I need you to question all the servants, see if any of them have seen her.”
“What about your guests?” Walters asked. “There are still a few stragglers to see to their coaches.”
“They can show themselves out!”
The butler’s eyes grew wide, but he knew a command when he heard it. He bowed briefly then obeyed.
Devon returned to the ballroom and surveyed the littered, nearly empty room. The terror inside him increased. Caroline was gone, he knew it: The murderer had her.
“I can see by your face that you haven’t found your wife,” Christian said as he approached. “I’m certain she’ll turn up, Dev.” He winked. “She wouldn’t be the first wife to slip away from her husband for a little private conversation.”
“This is not a matter for coarse jests,” Devon answered, barely controlling his temper. “Caroline has been kidnapped!”
Christian’s sly look vanished. “You mean that, don’t you?”
“By God, if you only knew!” Devon wiped a hand over his face.
“I really think you’re making too much about nothing,” Quentin said. “She’s bound to turn up sooner or later.”
Devon turned to him. “You were the last to see her. You said that she took ill, that you left her in the care of a servant. What did this footman look like?”
“Gads, man. I don’t make it a habit to take note of lackeys. One footman’s the same as the next.”
“Think, Quentin, think?�
� Devon clenched his fists at his sides, resisting the urge to throttle his friend.
“He was tall, I suppose. Other than that, I can’t say.”
“My lord,” Walters discreetly interrupted. “I’ve questioned the servants. None of them has seen her ladyship. I’ve also had Jeanette search all the upstairs bedchambers. There was no sign of her there either.” The butler hesitated. “And there’s another odd thing, my lord. Your personal servant, Mr. Ginter, also appears to be missing.”
Ginter? A suffocating feeling squeezed Devon’s chest at the thought that his trusted valet might be the villain. No, he would not believe it.
“There you have it, Devon. It looks like your wife has run away with your valet.” Quentin let out a chortle.
Devon turned on him. “I’d advise you to keep your wit to yourself tonight, Harberry. Else I might forget our long-standing friendship and call you out.”
Quentin gave him an offended look then bowed. “Your servant, Northrup.”
“What ails him?” Christian exclaimed as Quentin walked away. “I thought we agreed that we would all come to each other’s aid in times of crisis.”
“Perhaps Quentin thinks that I’m better off without Caroline.”
“Bosh! Anyone with eyes in their head can see that you love her. If she means that much to my friend, I’m willing to try to get her back for you.”
Devon gazed fondly at Christian. For all his dissolute habits, he was loyal to a fault.
“My thanks. Unless I miss my guess, I may need your assistance.”
“What’s wrong, Dev? Why do you think Caroline’s been kidnapped?”
“It’s a long story, Christian. I’ll tell you in the carriage.”
“You’re going after her? Have you any idea where to look?”
“Some suspicions only.” Devon led the way into the library and unlocked a cabinet. He took out a walnut box. Opening it, he put one of the gleaming silver pistols in his pocket and offered the other to Christian. “The area of town we’re going to visit is rather unsafe.”
Christian’s eyes lit up as he took the weapon. “Why don’t we take my carriage? My driver’s quite a bruiser. Even thieves and footpads won’t dare mess with him.”
Devon nodded.
~ ~ ~
“Astonishing!” Christian leaned back against the brown velvet squabs of his well-sprung carriage. “So, this fiend has killed two people and now you think he’s after Caroline.”
“Yes. The only thing I can imagine is that he plans to implicate me in her murder as he did with Beaumont.”
“For blackmail?”
“I presume so.”
Christian let out his breath in a hiss. “What a dastardly enemy you have.”
“Worse yet, it must be someone close to me, someone who knows my habits.”
“Like a servant?” Christian cocked a brow. “It seems strange that your valet, Ginter, has gone missing at the same time as your wife.”
Devon shook his head. “Ginter has been with me since I left Eton. I can’t imagine that he’s involved.”
“But he has disappeared,” Christian pointed out.
“No. If Ginter is missing, it means his life is in danger as well. He would never hurt Caroline. I would stake my life on it.”
Christian said nothing.
Devon fingered the cold metal of the pistol in his pocket and prayed that they were not too late.
~ ~ ~
Caroline roused vaguely. Even as the dizziness and fatigue pulled her into unconsciousness, another force nagged her to open her eyes. Danger! the voice warned. Wake up!
She fought the urge to sleep, to slip clown into the dark spiral of her dreams.
Where was she? Where was Devon?
Devon! The memory brought her to alertness. She wasn’t supposed to leave him. He would be worried.
Groaning, she opened her eyes. She was in a carriage and the coach lantern seemed to be shining into her eyes. Halos of light winked and glinted, distorting her vision. She closed her eyes again.
“That’s right,” a man’s voice said soothingly. “Go back to sleep, little mermaid.”
Despite the lulling words, Caroline’s sense of danger increased. Where was Devon?
“Oh, she’s a dainty morsel, is she not?” another, coarser voice said. “What do you say we each have a poke at her before we gets to the inn. The master would never know.”
“What kind of blighter are you, Willy? She’s fair out of it.”
“That’s what I means,” the one named Willy hissed. “She’d never even know we topped her.”
“She’s a lady,” the other man protested. “Not some blowen from the streets ye can buy for a shilling.”
“They’ve all got the same hole between their legs, don’t they? I’d rather fancy having me a countess.”
“The master would know it.”
“Nay, he would not!”
Hearing this chilling conversation, Caroline’s wits reasserted themselves. She was in grave danger of being raped, not by one man but by two!
“Fool! The master means to have her for hisself. You think he wouldn’t notice if someone else spilled their wad inside her first?”
The man named Willy sighed. “I’m supposin’ you’re right, but couldn’t we feel her up a bit?”
Caroline struggled to make her muscles function. She would not helplessly endure their molestation. She would fight!
“Leave her be,” the first man said. “‘Tis bad enough what she’ll have to endure at the master’s hands, without ye mauling her first.”
“You think he’ll kill her?”
“Aye. After he’s had done with her.”
Willy sighed again. “Seems a waste. She’s a right tasty piece.”
The two men lapsed into silence. Caroline didn’t know whether to feel relieved or horrified. She had been reprieved from ravishment, but the ultimate fate she faced was obviously worse. The “master” meant to rape and abuse her, then kill her.
Shefield. The memory of his cold, gray eyes watching her as she drank the ratafia made her blood run cold. He was the murderer. Tall. A nobleman. Someone who could move freely about London. Someone close to Devon, close enough to learn his plans. But what was Shefield’s motive? Did he have some grudge against her father? Or was Devon his target?
Terror seemed to paralyze her. Even if Devon realized she was missing, he wouldn’t know where to look for her. He would never guess that one of his friends was the murderer. Her only hope was to escape before her captors delivered her into Shefield’s hands.
If only she could see the faces of the two men accompanying her. Were they complete fiends like their employer? Or did they possess a touch of decency that she could appeal to?
Reluctantly, Caroline abandoned the notion. It seemed likely that whatever sympathy her captors felt for her was negated by their fear of their master. They might regret her fate, but they would not hazard their own necks to save hers. Shefield was obviously too savage an individual for them to risk crossing him.
Fear—that was what motivated these men. If only she could use their dread of their employer to her advantage.
A plan slowly came to her. Simple, almost laughably so. But it might work.
She groaned loudly.
“Is she coming around?”
“Don’t know. Sounds like it.”
“What if she does?”
“The master will want her awake. If she struggles, we’ll tie her up.”
The thought of being delivered to Shefield, bound and helpless, spurred Caroline on. She began to make choking sounds.
“What? What ails her?”
“Aughhh,” she gasped. “Can’t... can’t breathe.”
One of the men grabbed her and shook her. “There now. You’re all right.”
She went limp and made her breathing labored and harsh.
“Something’s gone wrong!” the man holding her cried.
“What is it?”
“Don�
�t know, might be the stuff he gave her to drink. Maybe it was too strong.”
Caroline took a shallow, shuddery breath then held it.
“I think she’s dyin’!”
“Bosh it! She can’t be. The master will kill us!”
Caroline clutched her throat and began to thrash around, still holding her breath.
“Do somethin’” Willy screeched. “Stop the carriage!”
“And what’ll we do then?” the other man demanded. “If she dies, we’ll have to make a run for it. Can’t let the master find us.”
“Stop the carriage! We’ll get some water! Maybe we can bring her to.”
Caroline took a breath, then immediately began to make choking, sputtering sounds.
“The death rattle! She’s a goner!”
The carriage finally stopped moving. “I’ll get some water!” she heard Willy exclaim, then the sound of the door of the vehicle opening.
The other man bent over her. Caroline made her limbs go rigid and again held her breath.
“She’s dead,” the man whispered. He gave a gasp of fear. “What am I going to do?” He leaned out the carriage door and peered out. “Willy? Willy? Where are you?”
Another man, presumably the driver, spoke, “He’s gone to get water.”
“It’s too late.”
“You don’t mean... She’s dead?”
“Aye.”
“You’re sure?”
“Come see for yourself if you don’t believe me!”
Her lungs were bursting. She’d never dreamed her charade would succeed so well. If only she could hang on a few moments longer.
“What are we gonna do?”
“Run for it, I say.”
“The carriage...”
“Leave it. If the master finds us, we’ll say we were attacked.”
She could feel the man’s shudder from where she lay. “You know he won’t care. He’ll break our necks just like he did Lizzie’s.”
Her ears began to ring. In a moment, she would pass out and begin to breathe again, whether she willed it or not.
“Let’s go!” the driver urged.
“The body.”
“Leave it for the boneman! I tell you, we have to get out of here!”
There was a thud as the man jumped from the carriage. Caroline took a deep, slow breath, filing her aching lungs. It seemed impossible, but it was true. Her captors had left her.
Devil's Own Bargain (London Lords) Page 15
