He cursed low.
"We searched everywhere and found signs of another carriage, footprints, and other evidence of some sort of scuffle. It was getting darker by the moment, so we returned to assemble more men. Then the boy arrived at the kitchen door. He gave us this letter, along with the watch, and said it was most urgent that you receive it."
Christian clenched his teeth as he scanned the cryptic note. He wanted to howl his outrage. His blood ran like ice through his veins. “Your suspicions are correct. The bloody bastard took Elizabeth. They say they'll kill her if I do not pay a huge ransom. The bastards mention knowing something of her nighttime activities. That could only mean one thing: the villains are thorough and know more about my wife than they should. If they do not manage to kill us both, they shall likely turn Elizabeth over to authorities."
Coldness, a grim resolve settled over him as he stared sightlessly at the sheet of foolscap. Whoever had the audacity to steal his wife, threaten her, had just signed his own death warrant.
"The kidnappers demand my presence at half-past midnight.” Deceptively calm, he once again opened the watch cover to check the time. He had less than two hours to prepare.
Rawlins stood on the sidewalk, waiting for instructions.
"Come, man, we have no time to waste."
He tied his horse to the back of Christian's coach and within seconds, they were off to Berkeley Square.
* * * *
Re-fastening the closures on a large leather bag, Christian looked at the dour portly gentleman and gave him a grim nod. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am for your help at this late hour, Sir Michael. With my wife's life in danger, I had not a moment to lose. I shan't forget your help."
Sir Michael Bloodworth, one of London's most prestigious bankers, bowed slightly in acknowledgment. “Admittedly, I was alarmed at being awakened at such an hour, but I am aware that you are not a frivolous man. I knew the matter must be urgent. I am most happy to assist, Your Grace, and let me add that I wish you well on finding your wife hale and hearty. Lord Henry is a friend, and I would despair seeing more grief heaped upon his head. Her Grace grew up before my eyes, and I am quite fond of her."
Christian drew a finger over the gold filigree decorating the top of a gleaming mahogany box. Inside were two precisely weighted Manton pistols. He looked at the banker. “I insist this matter be kept strictly confidential, Bloodworth. I would not wish to see Lord Henry told of this, as he is just recovering from a heart ailment. Elizabeth is my wife, and I shall deal with it."
Bloodworth nodded. “Of course. Be careful, Your Grace, and good luck."
When the banker left, Rawlins approached his desk from the shadows just as Pandora rushed into the room. Wearing trousers tied at the waist with a length of rope and an oversized man's shirt, she clutched a battered hat in her hand. Fury reddened her small face as she gritted her teeth. “I shall go with you! Do not dare say me nay, for I will not hear of it!"
"Pandora, go to your room at once,” Rawlins said. “You shall not involve yourself in this matter."
Drawing herself up into a figure of outrage, she propped fisted hands upon her hips and glared at Rawlins. “How dare you? You have no rights over my person!"
"But I will, my dear,” he said with quiet certainty. “You have run wild for too many years. It is time someone took you in hand."
Pandora stomped her booted foot and pointed a finger at Rawlins. “That man will certainly never be you. My first duty is to my lady.” Her eyes filled and tears ran unchecked down her face. “I w-would g-give my life. Do you not ken?"
Christian approached Pandora, loving her for her devotion to Elizabeth. Gently, he placed his hands upon her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “We all know of your loyalty, Pandora, and I thank you for it. This, little one, is something I must do myself."
Rawlins jerked. “But Christian, Your Grace, this is surely not a wise course of action. You need someone to cover your back."
Christian frowned at the two of them, each so willing to put his or her life in danger. Emotion welled in his throat. “No. Not this time. Tonight I shall go alone."
* * * *
Riding swiftly through the chilly London night, Christian skirted the more fashionable homes and throngs of carriages straight into the seedier parts of London. Through the stews where dilapidated buildings featured a prostitute in every doorway, past rowdy taverns filled with cutthroats of every sort, he rode. When he reached the docks, the rotten smell of the Thames slammed into his senses.
Elizabeth was here in this awful place, and the knowledge made his rage swell to dangerous proportions. Considering her past, she was, no doubt, struggling to remain calm in the face of this threat. Her bravery and courage were unparalleled, but the threat to their unborn child could affect everything. Fear hovered over him as his eyes scanned the docks for the warehouse indicated in the letter.
Tendrils of silver fog curled icy fingers over the land. The full moon, bright and golden, added an iridescent glow to the writhing gray streamers. Spying his destination, he dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby lamppost. In the distance, a horn sounded its lament and lamplight swayed on the bows of bobbing vessels as they moved sleepily in the water.
A brisk wind plucked at the layers of his black greatcoat as he moved stealthily to the dilapidated warehouse. Just as the note indicated, it was a two-story affair featuring an upstairs room that jutted out over the Thames. Wrinkling his nose at the offending odors permeating the air, he checked the arsenal stowed away on his body.
Beneath his billowing coat, he'd tucked a pistol at the waist of his black trousers. Knee high boots, featuring a deep cuff at the top, neatly hid a lethal blade and another pistol. He knew without a doubt that he'd be searched and was fully prepared to lose the pistol beneath his coat. With any luck, the other weapons would remain hidden from the kidnappers.
Untying the heavy leather bag from the saddle, he gripped the handle and proceeded slowly to the warehouse. Meager light showed from the window above and contrasted sharply with the blackened building below.
Elizabeth was up there. He swallowed. But was she alive? No, he would know if she were dead, wouldn't he? If she were dead, the world would turn empty and cold. It would stop spinning on its axis.
Stopping briefly at the gaping front door, he felt the presence of another through the absolute silence. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he clutched the bag tightly with one hand and reached for his pistol with the other. Scanning quickly, he heard the faint squeak of a rodent as it foraged for food. Rickety stairs led to the second floor where a grimy window overlooked a ragged pile of rubble below. Splintered lengths of wood and twisted metal lay piled high like a drunken sentinel. Rats, huge and gray, skittered and sniffed, as they moved upon the mangled heap.
He took one step then two toward the stairway, then stiffened abruptly. The hard mouth of a pistol settled at the base of his skull and though he'd been prepared, he couldn't help the leap of his heartbeat.
"I knew you would come,” said the male voice. Reaching over Christian's shoulder, the man plucked the pistol from Christian's right hand. “There now. Can't have you shooting someone, can we?"
Something in the voice sounded familiar, but Christian knew he must wait to learn the man's identity. “Where is Elizabeth?"
"Hmm. Resting comfortably I should imagine. Tied to the bed upstairs at the moment. Lovely piece, your wife. If she were mine, I might keep her tied to a bed. The spitfire gave me quite a go of it when I took her, but in the end, I overpowered her. That is the way of we men, is it not?"
"I wouldn't know,” Christian drawled, outwardly calm. “I have never had to overpower a woman."
A brusque chuckle came from behind him. “Ah, yes, Christian, your reputation with the ladies is well-known. Tell me, how does it feel to have all that warm, willing female at your disposal?"
"Enough of your childish games,” he said, coolly. “Give me my wife, and you may have your money."
Th
e heavy bag was plucked from his left hand. “Ah, but I already have the money, Your Grace. Come, let us go up and re-acquaint you with your charming wife."
Taking the stairs slowly, the pistol jabbing at the back of his head, Christian stopped at the landing and opened the door. Heartbeat accelerating, he stepped inside to stare down the length of another pistol pointed directly at his chest.
Beatrice stood by a rickety table illuminated by a solitary candle. The firelight cast crawling shadows upon her face. “Ah, darling,” she crooned with a feigned pout. “How decidedly awful that you should keep me waiting so very long. Since your hasty marriage, I had despaired of ever seeing your handsome face again. But here you are!"
Christian growled low. “I might have known you would have a part in this, Beatrice. You always were a bloody bitch."
She closed her eyes in a parody of ecstasy and pretended to shake. “Oooh, Christian! You have always made me tremble with your wrath.” She laughed then and moved closer. Close enough to touch. Eyes lambent, she ran her palm down the front of his trousers. “Such a big, strong man. Did you know that I wanted to seduce you many years ago? You were, what? Sixteen, maybe seventeen. Handsome enough to make any woman drool. Perhaps before you depart this world, I might have a taste and see what all the fuss is about."
"Enough, darling,” purred the male voice behind Christian's right shoulder. “We have wasted enough time."
Beatrice's eyes narrowed to slits. “Shut up, moron. We shall handle this my way."
The gun was removed from his back, and Christian watched as Park Mansfield came into view. His cousin moved to stand beside Bea. Park smirked at his growl of recognition.
"Bastard!"
"Ah, cousin, you have always had such a way with words."
Christian ignored the two of them for a moment and looked around the room for Elizabeth. If she were dead, if one tiny hair on her head was disturbed, he would slowly dismember both Park and Beatrice. Deep within the shadows of the room, he heard a faint sound and turned to find Elizabeth stretched upon a dirty tick mattress. Her hands were tied to an iron headboard. A dirty cloth had been bound around her mouth, effectively gagging her. Her eyes, dark within her pale face, were alive with frustration, fairly snapping with fury.
When he looked at her, she stilled, having gotten his attention. “Are you all right, love?” Rushing unimpeded to her side, he drew away the gag and watched her run her tongue over dry lips. “Are you injured?"
"No,” she croaked harshly. “Untie me, Christian."
He sat upon the edge of the bed, reaching up to her bound hands. Angry red marks circled the delicate skin of her wrists and an angry bruise lay dark purple on her cheek. He untied her hands and rubbed them. Elizabeth hissed with pain.
Pressing a kiss to each wrist, he looked at her. “Do not worry, darling,” he whispered for her ears only.
"I won't,” she whispered, tears welling. “I trust you. Trust us."
"The babe?"
"Fine, I think. I have been so frightened."
He lifted his hand to trace the purple bruise on her cheek. Turning abruptly, he pinned Park and Beatrice with a look. “Who dared mark her? Answer me!"
"We do not have to answer a goddamned thing,” Park shouted. “Especially not to you. The former duke."
Christian stood and helped Elizabeth to sit. Swinging her unbound legs over the side of the mattress, he helped steady her before turning back to his cousin. “What does that mean exactly? Should I hazard a guess?"
Park bowed mockingly while Beatrice giggled behind her hand. “By all means, cousin."
"You plan to kill both of us and take over the title. Simple enough to guess."
Park set his pistol on the table and clapped his hands. “Clever. Very clever. I always credited you with intelligence."
"I am intelligent enough to know that you will never get away with it. The plan is obvious, and you will be suspect immediately."
"Not necessarily,” Beatrice said. She'd moved to the window, where she stood teasing the jagged, broken glass with one finger. “Get the watch, Park, and don't be an idiot. Be careful."
He glared at her before lifting his pistol again. Moving slowly, he reached out to pluck the incriminating gold watch from Christian's coat pocket. When he returned to the table, Beatrice plucked it from his hand, making him start.
"This small piece of jewelry shall be your undoing.” She smiled wickedly. “It shall soon become known that Elizabeth was none other than the dastardly Raven Rogue. She stole this piece from dear, dead Edward and, in a fit of revenge for her sister, killed him.” Beatrice tut-tutted and shook her head. “Poor darling Christian learns the truth about his bride. She is a thief and murderer. In a fit of rage, he shoots her dead then kills himself. Very neat."
They were insane, both of them.
Elizabeth stood and clutched his arm. “You will never get away with this,” she said. “Why all of London knows that Christian and I have made a love match. Our affection is plain to see for anyone with eyes in their heads."
"She's right,” he added. “You will be suspect, Park, and well you know it."
Park smiled slowly and shook his head. “Your bodies will not be discovered for awhile yet, if ever. The Thames, as you know, is an unforgiving graveyard. Those tossed in are seldom recovered. I have plenty of time to invent an airtight alibi."
"I have been thinking on that very thing, Park,” Beatrice said, lips quirking. “Although we haven't spoken of this to date, I have come upon an idea for after we have killed them."
Repulsed by them, Christian glanced at Elizabeth. It was plain to see her revulsion. How very easily they spoke of murder. How sick and twisted they were. Park and Beatrice ignored them for the moment, consumed in talk of murder plots and alibis.
They were both quite distracted.
Suddenly Christian turned to Elizabeth, praying she would understand his ploy. He shrugged out of his greatcoat and with a swirling motion settled the heavy fabric over them, cocooning them together. His arm was around her shoulders while Park and Beatrice began to shout at each other.
To the casual eye, Christian and Elizabeth could have been lovers saying their last good-byes. Lifting her chin, he stared into her eyes and murmured one word. “Boot."
Comprehension lit her eyes. She leaned against him as if to seek comfort. While raised voices rent the air, she slowly lowered her body by small increments until her fingers touched the top of his knee-high boot. He felt a small movement as she withdrew the huge knife hidden there. Rising slowly, she placed the knife in his hand and pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips.
"But the money is mine, you stupid ass!” Beatrice shouted. Her face was red with fury as she pointed an accusing finger at Park. “The entire plan was mine, and I deserve the money. I deserve to be a duchess and as wealthy as the Prince Regent."
"But marry you? Never.” His voice was cold, detached. Absently he flicked nonexistent lint from his coat sleeve, the pistol still gripped in one hand. Finally, he looked up. She wore a look of shock and fury. She stood before the window, where yellow moonlight feathered her dark hair and cast her face in shadow.
"Wretch!"
"Bitch,” he parried smoothly. “For months you have called me stupid, moron, and idiot!” His hand slashed the air. “No more! Stupid whore! Why would I marry a dried up old cow when I can have my pick of any debutante in England? With my wealth and the title, women will hound me morning and night. They will beg to marry me.
Smiling, he studied her from top to toe and slowly lifted the gun. “I must say, Beatrice, it has been entertaining working with you, and I sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart."
"Wh-wha ... Park? Do not ... No! You wouldn't dare!"
Grinning, he shook his head and tutted. “You never learn do you, my dear. I dare everything."
With those parting words, he aimed and fired. A tiny hole bloomed between her eyes. Elizabeth screamed and buried her face against Christian's c
hest. His arms wrapped tightly around her for just a moment as he studied the carnage.
Beatrice lay half in, half out of the broken window. Her mouth was open in a soundless cry. Imbedded in the back of her neck were ragged shards of glass. Blood seeped in red streamers along her throat and over the grimy glass.
Laughing with delight, Park turned. “I was always a passable shot, Christian. Do you remember?"
He didn't trouble with an answer. His body tightened as he readied himself to protect Elizabeth at all costs.
"Do not do this, Park,” she murmured huskily. “You have money. Lots of it. Take it and leave the country. Have you no conscience?"
"Sadly, I lost it long ago. No, my dear cousin, as much as it pains me, you must die. Both of you.” Turning to Christian, he motioned with the gun. “Move aside, cousin. I think I would find it enjoyable to kill your wife before your eyes."
"Bastard! Take me. Let her go!"
Park ignored him, his eyes on Elizabeth. She lifted her chin, defiantly. “Ah, I love it!” he said. “All spit and vinegar! I shall always regret that I did not meet you first, Elizabeth."
From down below, a feminine scream rent the air.
Park jerked toward the sound as a wicked gust of wind swept through the open window and over Beatrice's dead body. The light went out, leaving a silver curl from the spent candle to languish then slowly drift skyward.
"Bloody hell!” he cursed in the darkness.
Christian was prepared. He raised the knife and let it fly. Park grunted. Moonlight streaming into the room fell upon the knife handle, which protruded from Park's shoulder. A macabre expression lit his face as he lifted his pistol and took aim.
Christian shifted his body away from Elizabeth as he gripped the fabric of his black greatcoat. He swung the cumbersome cloth toward Park's face, catching him up in the heavy wool. The pistol clattered to the floor as Christian raised his fist and struck Park in the face. Blood spurted from his nose as he tumbled helplessly backward.
As Park's head lolled and he stumbled out of the room and onto the landing, Christian leaned back and planted a solid kick to Park's chest. Breath left him with a loud whoosh of sound, and Christian kicked again as Park's eyes went wild and he began to fall. The feeble rail surrounding the landing cracked beneath his weight. Screaming in panic, he tumbled over the edge.
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