Riordan grasped the neckcloth again and twisted. “This had better be the correct address, or I will hunt you down and—”
“’Tis, I swear!” George cried.
Riordan pushed the trembling footman away. Turning on his heel, he exited, then immediately mounted Grayson. First he would see Mary, pack a small kit, and stop at Wollstonecraft Hall on the way to London—he would need Garrett. Giving the gelding a swift kick, he galloped off toward the cottage.
Minutes later, he arrived. Slipping from the saddle, he patted Grayson’s neck once again. “Sorry, my lad. I’ll have to push you hard all the way to the hall.” The horse nickered, his hoof pawing the dirt in reply. “Good boy.”
He entered the cottage, and the emptiness of the place struck him hard. Her absence was keenly felt. Riordan spied the smashed cup and saucer. Over on the chaise, a book lay at a strange angle. As he picked it up, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. He bent to pick it up. It was the note he had written her this morning.
Mittens came from the bedroom, and when she spotted Riordan she sprinted toward him at an awkward gait. The kitten rubbed against his legs, meowing loudly, sounding forlorn. Riordan gathered the distressed feline into his arms and petted her. “There now, it will be all right.”
But would it? God knows how much of a head start they had. Was Sutherhorne in London, or at his country estate? Perhaps he wasn’t at his residences at all. Then how in hell could he locate Sabrina? Once the kitten had calmed, he lowered her to the floor, then commenced gathering a few items to place in his pack.
Mary entered the cottage. “The children are on their way home. What did you find out?” Riordan relayed everything George the footman had told him. Mary frowned. “The lad was always an unlikable sort. But I believe he’s telling the truth. As he said, he hasn’t been paid; why lie for the baron? What will you do?”
“Head for London with all speed. My family home is on the way. I’ll be collecting my uncle to assist.”
“The flame-haired Viking? Good choice.”
Despite the circumstances, Riordan smiled. “I do like you, Mary. Garrett is half Scottish, always reminded me of a medieval Highlander. Please stay here. Look after Mittens, make use of the food, and make yourself comfortable. I’ll send word when I locate Sabrina.”
Mary clasped his arm. “You love her.”
“With all my heart. I think I have from the beginning.” He patted her hand. “I will find her.”
“I don’t doubt it, Mr. Black. I’ve every faith in you. Godspeed.”
Nodding, he reached for his bundle and dashed outside. After securing it on the saddle and giving Grayson another encouraging pat, he mounted his horse and started off with a trot. How tempting to push Grayson at full gallop the entire way, but he knew his horse well, what he was capable of.
Two hours later, he arrived at Wollstonecraft Hall. Martin opened the door and could not keep the look of surprise from his face, though he quickly settled his features into a passive expression. “They are all in the library, Master Riordan.”
They? Damn it, his father and grandfather were here. Well, that couldn’t be avoided. He marched into the library. Garrett, his father, and grandfather were looking at maps spread out on the desk. “I need assistance. Sabrina has been taken by her father to be sold to Sutherhorne. I pray I’m not too late.”
The men all started talking at once, peppering Riordan with questions. He held up his hand to quiet them, then quickly filled them in on the situation.
The earl shook his head. “Sutherhorne? He keeps his life private. Who is to know what a man is capable of?”
“He’s obsessed with Sabrina. Has lusted after her for years. Her father held an auction for her when she was but eighteen. Pepperdon outbid Sutherhorne.”
“A repulsive act, and one that can be prosecuted in court,” the earl spat. Then his eyes widened. “Julian, do you recall the invitation we received from Durning about ten or eleven years ago? He was vague on the grounds for the invite, claiming our complete secrecy was needed, and since we did not know him, we declined.”
Riordan’s stomach lurched. His father and grandfather had been invited to the auction?
Julian’s lip curled with disgust. “Yes, I do. Now he intends to try and sell his daughter for a third time.”
Riordan turned to his uncle. “Garrett, will you come with me to London?”
“I will. And before we leave, I’ll send a message to Edwin Seward.”
“The ex-Bow Street Runner looking for Aidan?” Riordan asked.
“The very one,” Garrett replied. “He’s in London. He can watch Sutherhorne’s residence in Mayfair, or have one of his lads do it until we arrive.”
Julian crossed his arms. “We will all go with you. Make a united front.”
His grandfather nodded. “We’d better prepare to depart. Best bring weapons.”
Jesus. Weapons? Absolutely. He was going into battle to rescue the woman he loved, but he did not think of himself as a hero—didn’t possess enough of an ego. For Sabrina, the woman he loved to distraction? He’d wear armor and ride in on a white horse in a heartbeat.
Chapter 24
Opening her eyes, Sabrina was met by hazy images. She blinked several times to try and focus. A room at an inn? It was not an expensive one, if the sparse furnishings were any indication. The bed was narrow and uncomfortable. She wrinkled her nose. This place reeked of horrible odors she did not want to guess at the origins of. With great difficulty she sat upright, the bedframe squeaking with her efforts.
“You’re awake.”
Her loathsome father. She remembered all of it. How he made her accompany him after taking the laudanum. Her mouth was dry and tasted bitter and her stomach churned. “Explain what you mean by Sutherhorne is willing to pay,” she said.
The baron crossed his legs. “A railway scheme I was involved in has collapsed. I’m close to ruin. There may be an investigation by parliament, as there have been many such schemes. I will not go to debtor’s prison.” He reached in his side coat pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “And this anonymous letter has destroyed my chances with Lady Irene and her substantial dowry. I’ve no choice but to sell you. Again.”
Her heart froze. “Sell?” The word came out as a croak. Again? No. She’d told Riordan her father had sold her to the highest bidder, but she’d used the exaggerated phrase to punctuate a point. Never did she believe she was literately sold. “What do you mean?”
“I held an auction when you turned eighteen. Quite a few peers attended, all for the chance of having a young virgin bride. Since there is a chance of being arrested for selling a woman for profit, they all signed confidentiality agreements before I allowed them to attend. The bidding became particularly intense between Sutherhorne and Pepperdon. The earl won, since Sutherhorne’s fortune was not as robust as it is now. Though I have to hand it to the stubborn marquess.” Her father chuckled cruelly. “When he wants something, he is determined. And he wants you.”
Auction. Her blood curdled. Sutherhorne’s cryptic statement now made sense. I have waited eleven years for this, Sabrina, and I have run out of patience. You see, your father chose Pepperdon over me. There was more than one suitor for your hand. Quite the…contest.
Oh. My. God.
“Imagine my surprise when Sutherhorne contacted me last week, claiming he wished to reopen negotiations.” Her father stood and walked about the room. “He met my exorbitant price. It will be enough to see me free and clear from my financial obligations and start again.”
“You’re the worst sort of man. Selling your only child…a thirty-year-old woman!” she cried.
The baron swung about to face her, his face thunderous. “You are nothing to me but property. I can do as I like, regardless of your age.” He stomped toward her, waving the paper in her face. “Well deserved, in light of this. You owe me
. This letter came from you; do not deny it. I showed it to George and he recognized your bitch of a maid’s handwriting.”
“I don’t deny it. Someone had to warn the poor, innocent girl. You would have destroyed her life. As you have destroyed mine.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You are my father. You’re supposed to protect me. But you never have. You’re supposed to love me, but you never have. I still don’t understand why you act this way. Why treat me so miserably? What have I ever done to you?”
“You were born a female. I wanted a son to carry on my name. Not a sniveling, grasping daughter. What good are daughters but a millstone about a man’s neck? No, I never loved you. But don’t take it personally; I am incapable of the emotion.” His lips curled. “On top of that, you’re an interfering cow for ruining my chances with Lady Irene. For that alone, you deserve this fate.”
His words were spoken with cold indifference. Looking into his dead eyes, Sabrina saw the truth in his surprisingly honest statement of being unable to love. For years she thought there was something fundamentally wrong with her. Now it became clear: it was not her at all. She was not unworthy of love. Riordan had proved it. Especially last night. It had taken her this long to realize her father was soulless, with no heart, no morals. Evil to the core. The worst sort of man, out for his own selfish needs.
Purchased for Sutherhorne? Sabrina could not allow this to happen. She would do anything to return to her passionate schoolmaster. “I’ll give you the ten thousand pound settlement if you release me. I swear I will. No one need ever know what you’ve done. We will go our separate ways and forget this day.”
Her father laughed cruelly, then he sobered. “Here is the truth: there’s no money. Never was. Sutherhorne was going to pay for you again once you came out of mourning; it is why he came to Durning House a couple of months past, but that damned interfering schoolmaster ruined the plan. The man had me sign a paper claiming there is money…but there isn’t. He lied to you and married you under false pretenses. Why you stir such passions in men that they go to great lengths to claim you is beyond me.”
Sabrina did not think this situation could get any worse, but it had. Her heart shattered. Riordan would not lie. They sat in a solicitor’s office, signed official papers… Yet the solicitor was his friend. Was it all an elaborate plot? To what end? This made no sense whatsoever. She shook her head. “No. He would not lie to me.”
Her father shrugged. “Believe what you will, but think about it: if there was money, I would have used it to better my situation, not allow you to marry some upstart. I signed the paper because I wanted you gone. With Sutherhorne out of the picture, I knew I would be stuck with you. I let the schoolmaster have his way.” He stared at her. “You left a trunk full of gowns behind. I sold them for over two hundred pounds because I needed the money. Chew on that.”
Could all of this be true? She’d seen the proof on display at the dress shop. There had to be an explanation about the money. Riordan would not deceive her. “You’ve become a true villain. Kidnapping? Selling your daughter for profit?”
He tucked the letter back into his pocket. “Did you not hear me?” he sneered. “I have no choice.”
“We all have choices,” she snapped. “You will not take mine away ever again. My husband will come for me. I know it.”
The baron’s eyebrows shot up. “Why, because he’s the hero?”
“He is my hero. It’s all that counts,” she sniffed.
Her father snorted. “He won’t be for long, I’ll wager. Now cease your incessant chattering. I’ve sent word to Sutherhorne, he should be here presently.” He strode across the room and took a seat.
She felt sick to her core. There was no doubt Riordan would come after her, but how on earth would he find her? As far as her father’s statement about the money, she would not believe it. Not until she heard it from Riordan’s own lips. Oh, please find me, my love. Be my hero.
* * * *
They made it to London in record time, Garrett’s message arriving only thirty minutes before they did—but Edwin Seward had already sprung into action. Stopping at his small office on the outskirts of Whitechapel, one of his underlings informed them that Mr. Seward had placed men in Mayfair to keep the marquess’s townhouse under surveillance, and would they please make themselves comfortable as he would return directly.
“I will not sit around while Sabrina is in her father and Sutherhorne’s clutches,” Riordan shouted.
The earl laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Easy. We have to craft a plan. We cannot move forward until we know where she is.”
“I will tear London apart until I find her,” Riordan declared.
“Ah, the passion of youth,” the earl smiled.
A man strode into the small office. “Edwin.” Garrett took the man’s hand and shook it. This Edwin had the look of a former Bow Street Runner: tall, imposing, with shrewd eyes that studied his surroundings. A scar ran down the side of his face, from his left temple to the corner of his mouth. Danger exuded from him, but also an aura of confidence and competency.
“Allow me to introduce you. My father, Oliver Wollstonecraft, the Earl of Carnstone. Next to him, my brother Julian, Viscount Tensbridge. And this is my nephew, Riordan, Aidan’s twin. They’re not identical, but you can ascertain the similarities in features.” Garrett turned to face his family. “I gave Edwin the small painted portrait done on the twins’ twentieth birthday.”
Mr. Seward shook the men’s hands. When he came to Julian, he said, “We’re doing all we can to locate your son, my lord.”
“Excellent. Two days past, I instructed my steward to contact the bank and discontinue Aidan’s quarterly payments. If he resurfaces and tries to collect, they will inform me.”
Mr. Seward nodded. “A prudent plan, my lord. We will discuss it further soon.”
Riordan blew out a breath. Freezing the funds would anger Aidan. But if it helped locate him, all the better. His brother could hardly indulge in his vices with no coin. Riordan’s own quarterly payments had sat untouched since he’d accepted the teaching position.
“Now, why we’re all here,” Mr. Seward intoned. “It’s by sheer luck we caught Sutherhorne departing his townhouse. I followed him to a small inn on Cheapside. It’s not far from here, a few miles southwest. I’ve two of my men standing by. I would suggest we head there with all haste.”
Racing through the cobblestone streets, they reached the grubby little inn on Cheapside, nestled between a poultry market and a number of brick row houses. Riordan wrinkled his nose at the odor. Apparently the market had a number of live chickens, and the stench of poultry waste made his eyes water.
Riordan was off Grayson before the horse came to a full stop, with Mr. Seward right behind him. The investigator stopped and nodded toward a man standing by the door. “Top floor, Mr. Seward. Room fourteen. He’s not alone; I heard voices. Another man and a woman. The man arrived five minutes past.”
What luck they were able to locate the marquess. What if the baron hadn’t stopped at an inn, but delivered Sabrina directly and the marquess had left the city before they’d even arrived? Riordan vaulted the stairs two at time. The stairway was dark and narrow and creaked loudly under his boots; no doubt they could hear their approach.
Mr. Seward and Garrett were directly behind Riordan. Garrett had his gun drawn, a Colt Paterson revolver from America. With a swift kick, Riordan tore the flimsy wooden door from its hinges. He entered the room, his frantic gaze locking on Sabrina, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her expression was shuttered, but he could read the fear in her beautiful eyes.
Garrett raised his revolver and pulled back on the hammer. Mr. Seward stood on the other side of Riordan, holding a similar weapon.
“Ah. What perfect timing. Sabrina, meet Riordan Wollstonecraft,” Sutherhorne sneered. The look of shock on her face tore at Riordan’s heart. Damn it all,
he should have told her everything before this. Last night especially. “You did not know of his true identity? How interesting. I only found out myself two days ago, when I opened an investigation into the men who’d bodily manhandled and threatened me at the Carrbury Inn.” The marquess’s eyes narrowed as he glared at both he and Garrett.
The viscount and the earl entered the room. Both of them held unsheathed swords from their Malacca walking sticks. “And here is the rest of the venerable clan,” Sutherhorne mocked. “On a rescue mission, I assume?”
“Riordan?” Sabrina whispered, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Is this true? Black is not your name?”
“Sabrina, I can explain—”
Sutherhorne grabbed Sabrina’s arm and brought her none too gently to her feet. She struggled under his grip, her face stricken. “No explanations are necessary. I’ve made my acquisition, and you will allow us to leave. I was not going to bother with an annulment, merely keep her as my mistress. But I believe we’d best keep this above board. She was promised to me. Your so-called marriage is forfeit. I will ensure any court will rule in my favor.”
“Not bloody likely,” the earl hissed dangerously. “You don’t have a legal foot to stand on.”
“Legal? We will call for the Metropolitan Police and have you both arrested. Mistress? Your slave, is more like it. Women are not chattel to be bartered, sold, or held and used against their will,” Riordan yelled. “To hell with being civilized, I’m going to beat you senseless.” He vaulted forward, but Mr. Seward grasped his arm. Sutherhorne shrank back, no doubt reading the murderous intent in Riordan’s expression.
Julian pressed the tip of his sword against the baron’s heart. “Give the satchel to the marquess, Durning. The transaction has been cancelled.”
“No. I need this money. I’ll be ruined.” He clasped the satchel closer. “There is thirty thousand pounds in here.”
Sutherhorne dragged Sabrina toward the door, but she managed to wriggle out of his grip. “If you think I will submit to this, you are sadly mistaken. All of you.” She faced Sutherhorne, her look determined. “I’m not a green girl any longer. I will not cower in fear. I will fight every step of the way and make your life a misery. You will not own any part of me…ever.”
Marriage with a Proper Stranger Page 23
