by Sue London
What was odd to him, however, was that his response to the threats was merely irritation. He had yet to even report it to the Home Secretary, because it seemed more nuisance than anything else. What he spent most of his late-night time on was poring over the reports of Miss Grant’s activities. She had not been disingenuous when she said her cousin had a full schedule planned for her. Her nights were taken up with balls and entertainments, her days with rides, trips to museums, and shopping. Robert reviewed every single detail his agent provided. Names of the men she danced with, women she spoke to. And the assurance that, once she was in the Chester home for the evening, she did not venture back out. She did not have any late night rendezvous, nor any scandalous liaisons while attending the ton’s numerous entertainments. She was, in short, not acting the woman he knew she could be. A woman of adventure and lusty appetites.
In his more paranoid moments he considered that she had targeted him purposefully. That she hadn’t been drawn to him by attraction, but by assignment. However, everything in his records on her, which were becoming quite voluminous, indicated that she was precisely what she presented herself to be. A wealthy heiress of a Scottish laird and American business magnate. She was discreet enough in her affairs that he actually had no record of them, although he could testify himself to her prowess and experience. Of particular note was the charity work she did in Boston with unwed mothers and orphans. He had not yet ascertained why that particular charity had captured her interest. She was a strange and interesting woman.
* * *
When Imogen finally did receive correspondence from a Bittlesworth, it wasn’t from the one she wanted. This one now went by Telford.
“What is it?” Violetta asked, on pins and needles. As far as her cousin was concerned, the duchess had ignored Imogen while only weeks ago had been treating her with favor. Little did Vi know, but the first and only time Imogen had spoken to the girl they had been ghastly rude to one another.
Imogen pasted a false smile on her face to report, “She wants to take a carriage ride and reminisce over our time together at Belle Fleur.”
“Splendid!” Violetta enthused.
But was this note actually from the duchess, or did Robert hope to steal her away for an afternoon? Neither idea filled her with delight, but both made her curious. Either way she would be gone in another week. She penned her acceptance.
* * *
As soon as the liveried servant handed her into the carriage, it was clear that this was, in fact, Sabrina Bittlesworth. Her Haberdashers were with her, the countess sitting next to the duchess, leaving the open seat for her next to the blond virago.
Imogen sat down with a nod. “Ladies.”
“You can imagine my surprise,” the duchess began without preamble, ”when Baron Whimby complimented my good taste in friends, as I had so recently hosted you at Belle Fleur.”
“Yes,” Imogen said evenly, “I suspect that was surprising.”
The duchess was quiet for a moment, staring at her. “I must say you were the most amiable house guest we’ve ever hosted. I didn’t even know you were there.”
Imogen had to smile. “What is it you want to know, your grace? Or are you just waiting for an apology?”
“What do you have to apologize for? You shared with people that you traveled to one of my country homes with me, and I confirmed it.”
“Thank you, your grace.”
“All that I ask is that you tell me where you really were.”
Imogen glanced out the window and frowned. “Where are we going, your grace?”
“I don’t want either of us to be liars, Miss Grant. We shall have nuncheon at Belle Fleur this afternoon. You will find the kitchen to be exceptional. Then the next time someone asks you if you have been there, or asks me if I have hosted you there, we can both say yes with a clear conscience. Now, then. Where were you?”
The arrogance and dominance that Imogen found so appealing in Robert had little to recommend it in the diminutive duchess. “I don’t make it a habit to kiss and tell.”
The countess smiled. “You were with Robert, weren’t you?”
“Of course she was,” the blonde said. “Violetta herself told me that Sabre had whisked Miss Grant away in the ducal carriage. Whom other than Robert could pull off such a stunt?”
Imogen looked at the girl. “You spoke to my cousin?”
The blonde had the audacity to grin. “We’re friends, of a sort. Her cousin on the other side is my husband’s business partner. Why wouldn’t she tell me the exciting story of your growing friendship with the duchess?”
“All right,” the duchess said, “enough torturing Miss Grant.” She paused. “Even if it is fun, we all know that Robert will be most displeased with us, and our only hope of salvation is for our new sister to plead for our deliverance.” At that the younger woman’s expression changed from sour hauteur to a cheeky grin. “You will forgive us, Miss Grant?”
Imogen was startled. This girl had even greater control over her energies than Robert. The muted gray that had characterized her aura before was stripped away to reveal a shining, nearly overwhelming orange. Such vibrancy, such intensity.
“Are you all right, Miss Grant?” The solicitous, blue aura countess put out a steadying hand from across the carriage seat.
Imogen blinked and focused on the countess. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”
“You look pale, perhaps you should lie down. Did you eat something that disagreed with you? Or perhaps it’s being in the backward-facing seat of the carriage? I could switch with you if you like.”
“Stop being such a mother hen,” the blonde groused.
Imogen smiled and put up a hand. “I’ll be fine in a moment. And I’m sure we shouldn’t have you moving seats in a bumpy carriage in your condition, countess.”
“Jack,” the girl replied.
“What?”
“Call me Jack.”
“I… all right.”
“And I’m George,” the blonde next to her said.
“And I’m Sabre,” the duchess added. “We are very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Chapter Sixteen
Bobbins handed over the latest note delivered by a young boy and Robert repressed an irritated sigh as he opened it. Scanning the note quickly, he called Bobbins back.
“Find the boy who delivered this note.”
“It may not be easy, sir.”
“Call in whomever you need. Find him now.”
Robert looked at the simple line again.
Perhaps you will be more reasonable once I cage your little bird.
Blast and damnation. Of course his father’s hand was in all this. Few outside their family knew that Charlie called Sabre ‘little bird’. Not that Robert used that affectation himself, but it didn’t require a genius to know that he would recognize the nickname. Although tempted to pore back over the notes for more clues, he knew he needed to secure his sister first.
* * *
Imogen didn’t know when she had laughed so much. The girls were trying to top each other with stories about Robert, and although an alarming number of them centered around him training the girls in weaponry and warfare, the way in which they were told, and the absolute joy the women had in the memories, was quite affecting.
George was holding her sides from laughing so hard. “And Jack, the look on your face was priceless! You thought he’d asked you to the assembly!”
The merriment was cut short by a loud popping sound outside. It took Imogen a moment to realize what it was, but the other women reacted immediately. George looked out the windows and then drew the curtains tight, while Sabre dropped to the floor and opened a compartment below her seat. To Imogen’s horror, the carriage was slowing.
The duchess handed up guns. “George. Jack. Imogen.”
Imogen gingerly took the pistol. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
George absently patted her on the shoulder, peeking out the window again. “Wave
it around and look menacing.”
“Are we beset by brigands?” Imogen asked.
“So it would seem,” George confirmed.
“Number?” Sabre asked.
“I’ve only seen four so far, but with John slowing the carriage I assume they came from all sides.”
The duchess pulled out two long, wrapped bundles from under the seat. They proved to be sheathed swords and she used the butt of one to rap on the ceiling of the carriage.
George looked at her. “You want him to stop?”
“We need to bring this to a conclusion.”
Jack reached out. “Give me one of the swords.”
“I think not. Gideon would have my head.”
“Sabre, you may need me to fight.”
“Absolutely not, not in your condition.”
Imogen took the countess's hand. “She’s right. You’re too far along in your pregnancy to do anything strenuous.”
They could hear hoofbeats and men shouting as the carriage rattled to a stop. In the ensuing silence, the creak of saddle leather from the shifting horses was clear. George cocked her head to the side, listening, then held up nine fingers to Sabre. The duchess nodded.
A loud knock on the door made Imogen jump and gasp.
“Are you in there, your grace?” It sounded to be an educated man with a French accent.
Sabre primed her pistol. “Who wants to know?”
Imogen could feel her heart galloping in her chest, but the three women around her were calm, and the duchess was shrouded in that gray light again. Wanting to help, Imogen closed her eyes and tried to sense something of the intentions of the man on the other side of the door. What she felt made her recoil.
The voice called out again. “Please, your grace, let’s make this easy. Show yourself through the window so I know it is you and we can proceed.”
Before the duchess could raise her gun to the window, Imogen grasped her arm. “Don’t. These men would kill the rest of us to take you.”
Sabre narrowed her eyes. “How would you know that?”
Imogen realized how her statement must have sounded. “I… Please, just trust me. Too much is at stake.”
Sabre scowled but kept her pistol lowered as she twitched back the curtain slightly. “Who are you, sir?”
Imogen couldn’t see through the sliver of open curtain, but the man’s voice was very close, and silky with disingenuous respect. ”My employer wishes to speak with you. Your driver is a smart man, yes? He will not make us shoot him?”
“He will do as I instruct him. So long as we remain unharmed, we will come with you willingly.”
“Then we have found an accord. La rapidité!”
Sabre tapped on the ceiling again, and the carriage rocked into motion. With the sound of the wheels and horse hooves, they could be assured of some privacy.
George crossed her arms and leaned back. “Some poison and a blowgun would work wonders right now.”
“Noted,” Sabre said, “you have your knives, though?”
“Of course,” the blonde said.
Sabre nodded with satisfaction. “Now we must decide what to do in our present situation.”
George smiled sadly at the countess. “If only Jack weren’t pregnant we might have a fighting chance.”
“Three against one aren’t good odds,” Jack argued, “even if I were in fighting shape.”
“Yes,” George said, “but we’re women, so we can each take our first one out of complete surprise. That makes it more like two or two and a half to one.”
Imogen couldn’t believe that they were still considering fighting. Then she realized the duchess was staring at her. “Yes, your grace?”
“Tell me why you believe they would kill everyone.”
Imogen could feel suspicion radiating off the girl, not unlike her brother. “I’m not an agent, if that’s what you’re wondering. I just, I can sense things about people.”
The duchess tipped her head to the side. “And what, precisely, are you sensing about me right now?”
“Not much, your grace, but you have an uncommon control, like your brother.”
“You realize I have little reason to trust you.”
Imogen sighed. “Very well. May I hold your hand?”
Sabre narrowed her eyes again, but tugged off her glove as Imogen pulled off her own. “I thought it was the Rom who claimed to reveal destinies, not Americans.”
Taking the duchess’s hand in her own, Imogen focused on the younger woman. Her first impression was of a violent fury simmering just below that control. Images of fighting and bloodshed. She tried to focus, to parse through the immediate emotions and find something striking, something personal. She had mostly used her talents to push others away, not to gain their trust. “You are confident in your ability to prevail.”
Sabre snorted. “Yes, and now you will tell me about the children I will have—”
Imogen tightened her grip. ”Give me a moment.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It was hard to concentrate with the noise and motion of the carriage, and Sabre herself was a challenge. “What you are proudest of is… a necklace? With a charm that looks like— like a lizard?”
The only reaction from the duchess was an emotional withdrawal, followed by yanking her hand from Imogen’s grasp. She heard the other girls shift in their seats, and then Jack said, “That’s quite remarkable.”
Imogen opened her eyes to see the three younger women staring at her. The duchess was the first to speak. “Tell me everything you can divine about these men.”
“It isn’t easy to do, your grace, but it is clear this man is used to battle and bloodshed. I could sense that he was intensely determined to capture you. It is difficult to explain.”
“Where is he taking us?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t work like that, you see. I can sense emotions, and certain images that have deep emotions connected to them.”
“That must be terrible,” the countess said sympathetically.
“Horrifying,” George agreed, leaning away like someone afraid of catching a disease.
“I’ve learned to ignore it, for the most part.”
“Like closing one’s eyes?” Jack asked.
“Yes, something like that.”
The duchess turned to her pregnant friend. “The odds are not in our favor currently, and are likely to be less so once we are delivered wherever he is taking us.”
“Agreed,” Jack said, nodding.
“However, we are not in a position to make even a desperate fight for our freedom because the risks are too high. Only George and I are in capital shape to fight, and that would leave us defending you, John, and Miss Grant, none of whom I am willing to risk losing.”
“Yes,” the countess said sadly.
Sabre took Jack’s hand. “Lord help us, but we may be in need of rescue.”
George looked from one of her friends to the other. “Did you tell anyone where we were going today?”
Both women soberly shook their heads no.
Slouching back with a sigh the blonde said, “Well, this is just bloody brilliant.”
Chapter Seventeen
Robert impatiently brushed past the butler at the door. “I need to see my sister, where is she?”
“Her grace is out presently, sir.”
Taking a nearly unconscious inventory of the front hall where everything looked in order, he asked. “Out where?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir.”
“Where is the duke?”
“If you would like to wait in the parlor—”
“No, I don’t want to bloody wait in the parlor.” Turning away from the butler, Robert started calling, “Telford!”
The butler rushed in front of him, “Just this way, sir.” He was ushered into the library where he found the duke reclining on a leather couch.
“Mercy, Bittlesworth,” the duke said. “The way you were carrying on in the hall I thought you wanted to call me out. I
t seems you should have done that well before I married your sister.”
“Where is my sister?”
The duke arose from his seat, eyes narrowed. “Drink?” he offered.
“Dammit, your grace, where is Sabre?”
“She left some time ago. Haberdashers business, she said. You aren’t going to hie her off on another gun-wielding adventure, are you?”
“I have reason to believe she is in danger.”
The duke, who had been about to pick up the wine decanter, moved his hand instead to the brandy. After pouring a glass he asked, “What have you done this time?”
Robert was infuriated with the duke’s nonchalant attitude, but the question brought him up short. Not that long ago he had been responsible for a plot that had endangered the duke and, by extension, his own sister. “It isn’t something I’ve done, it’s something I haven’t done. Someone has been trying to force me to give up information and now I believe they are threatening Sabre’s safety to make me comply.”
“You believe?”
“The note only referred to caging my little bird.”
The duke’s brows rose, but he nodded, familiar with the reference. “And who is it that is threatening you?”
“I didn’t recognize the handwriting, but calling her little bird,” Robert’s voice sank to a near whisper, “I believe it to be my father.”
The duke’s expression had darkened with mention of the viscount. Robert knew that the duke despised Viscount Bittlesworth, even though he had yet to find out precisely why. The duke said quietly, ”You’ve said before that you don’t believe your father would hurt her.”
“Most likely.”
“You mean you’re not certain?”
“They seem very determined to gain this information. Ten of my agents have been killed already.”
The duke tossed back the remainder of his glass. “Let’s call on the Wolfes and see if she’s there, shall we?”
* * *
