“Yardley. I am Lord Yardley.” Marcus’s eyes traced her face, memorizing each line.
“Let us order tea, Your Lordship.” Ashton hustled everyone to nearby chairs. “We must inform Satiné of Velvet’s situation, and I still have many questions to which require answers. Afterwards, Lord Yardley and I will confer–develop a plan in case Thornhill and Lord Lexford fail.”
Only a few moments ago, Marcus had desired a speedy exit. Now, he had nothing better to do than sip tea with a beautiful woman.
The earl’s attention to her sister did not escape Cashé’s notice, and she seethed from the knowledge that it was her personality to which he objected and not just her lack of experience. “Come sit with me, Satiné,” she requested. At least, if His Lordship insisted on ogling her sister, the earl would have to look upon her, as well.
Over the next two hours, Baron Ashton and Marcus formulated a plan to follow Fowler and Lexford to Liverpool. Marcus had wanted to leave the ladies in Cheshire where they might remain safe, but, much to his chagrin, Miss Cashémere insisted on being in a position to protect her oldest sister’s reputation by traveling to the seaport with her uncle and the earl. “Uncle Samuel would expect me to protect Velvet from the gossipmongers.”
Miss Satiné thought to go only because her sister might require the emotional support. “Velvet must be terrified,” she said quietly.
And so Marcus rode beside Baron Ashton’s carriage. It was late when they departed Cheshire, but the trip to Liverpool would take only a few hours. Although Marcus assumed that the viscount and Fowler had already taken up residence in Liverpool, before they departed the baron’s estate, Marcus had sent a message to Lexford at Lexington Arms.
The Aldridge twins sat together in the baron’s carriage. Marcus shot several glances at the girls. Uncanny is what Ashton called it, and Marcus saw the truth behind the baron’s words. However, he suspected the differences in the women’s personalities would make it quite easy to delineate between the twins. Miss Cashémere certainly did not have Miss Satiné’s sweet disposition. Cashé Aldridge was obstinate and demanding and shrewish. Even in the reasons they had chosen to accompany the men to Liverpool highlighted their differences: Miss Cashé wished to make a religious statement about a woman’s virtue, where Miss Satiné offered comfort before propriety.
Ashton brought his horse along side of Marcus’s. “Liverpool is only another mile or two. We will put in at The Golden Apple. If your friends followed protocol, they will be lodged there. It is a familiar stop for those associated with the Realm.
Marcus liked the baron–respected the way the man’s mind worked–recognized how Charles Morton might have once played his part in keeping Britain safe. “I pray we are in time.”
Reaching the inn before nightfall, Marcus immediately recognized Lexford’s horse in the stable. He and Ashton dismounted, handing off their reins to a waiting groom. “They are here,” he told the baron in a hushed tone. “Let me locate my friends while you tend your nieces.” He motioned to where the baron’s carriage pulled into the inn yard’s entrance.
The baron nodded his agreement while Marcus turned toward the main door. Stepping into the dimly lit open room, he paused to permit his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then he saw him–the viscount made his way toward the stairs. Marcus pushed past some of the locals to reach the man. “Lexford!” he called.
Aidan Kimbolt turned quickly upon hearing his name. Recognizing his friend, Viscount Lexford turned from the stairs. “Yardley! What are you doing here?”
“Miss Cashé and I followed Lord Averette, but we changed our course when the lady remembered that the maternal uncle and her twin were in Cheshire. Therefore, we traveled to Chesterfield Arms. Baron Ashton is actually former Realm,” he whispered in hushed tones. “With the baron’s backing, we followed you in hopes that we might be of some service.”
“Miss Cashé is here?” His friend’s voice rose in anticipation as he peered over Marcus’s shoulder, expecting to see the girl.
Marcus had the strange feeling that handing Miss Cashé off to the viscount would be a mistake. But for whom? The girl? His friend? Or him? Giving his head a good shake, Marcus purposely shoved such thoughts away. The girl held no sway over him, and Lexford could freely have her. “The baron assists his nieces from the carriage.”
Lexford pushed Marcus toward an open door. “Thornhill is in the private dining room. Go on in. I will meet the baron.”
Marcus looked up in amusement. “And Miss Cashé’s twin?”
Lexford stopped short. “Do they truly favor each other?”
“Let us just say that you should be aware to whom you address your attentions.” Finally enjoying himself, Marcus found it satisfying to laugh at his friend. He realized he had been out of sorts since he received Shepherd’s note for him to seek out the Aldridges. It would be liberating to be rid of Miss Cashémere. Chuckling lightly, Marcus strolled toward the private dining room.
He was barely in the doorway when Fowler greeted him. “Yardley! I thought you sought Lord Averette.”
“Miss Cashémere believed it best if we come to Liverpool instead. She wanted to protect her elder sister.” Marcus purposely swallowed the words, which sprang to his lips: protect her elder sister from you! “I brought Baron Ashton and Miss Satiné with us; they reside quite close to Lexford.”
Fowler shook Marcus’s hand and ushered him into the room. “I had forgotten about Satiné.” The duke gestured to the food spread out upon the table. “Yet, how could Miss Cashé be of use?” Marcus half agreed with Fowler’s sentiments. The girl knew nothing of danger.
Marcus reached for the sliced dark bread and cheese. “Speak to the baron, Fowler. The man is former Realm, and Ashton has an idea of how he and the girls might foil Jamot’s plan.”
Before they could discuss it further, Lexford ushered the baron and the Aldridge twins into the room. “Look who Yardley brought us, Your Grace.” Marcus could not keep his eyes from looking upon Miss Cashémere. She docilely accompanied Lexford–acting very ladylike, not like the hellion Marcus had suspected she really was. Her eyes met his, daring Marcus to defy the image she presented.
The duke’s voice brought Marcus from his thoughts. “You will see to rooms for the baron and the young ladies.”
Marcus silently thanked his friend for the escape. “Of course, Fowler.”
A bit later, the men planned their attack while the ladies retired to freshen their clothing. Lexford’s man, Henry “Lucifer” Hill, had brought word that he had located the Baloch warrior for whom they searched at a portside warehouse. Lucifer actually followed the man to a boarded up storage building.
Fowler would have stormed the warehouse, but all the men preached caution. Jamot could have additional men inside the locked building, or he could have rigged an assault on Velvet Aldridge to squash an attack. “I could go through an upper level,” Marcus suggested. Each Realm member had special talents. Marcus’s was his ability to easily scale heights. However, Fowler had demanded to be the one to stage the rescue. The duke needed personally to secure his ladylove’s safety. “I will examine the building and advise you how best to proceed.”
“I would appreciate it, Wellston.”
Although only the viscount had voiced his discontent, neither he nor Kimbolt liked the idea of involving the young ladies. When he asked Miss Cashé about the color of her older sister’s gown, Marcus had thought that it might help him locate her. Plus, he had realized the Baloch’s belief in the power of color. The blue meant the sky. Jamot would lift up Velvet Aldridge to a great height. Whenever he discussed such mysticism with Englishmen, they scoffed at the uncivilized percepts, but Marcus had placed a great deal of store in the things beyond the explainable.
*
Marcus gave Fowler specific instructions on how to tie off the ropes to avoid a fall. The precarious part would be making a “bridge” between the buildings. Fowler had little experience with heights so Marcus had instructed him on
the basics. With the daylight, they had taken positions outside the warehouse and had waited for Jamot to make his appearance. Their plan involved a bit of luck and a certain amount of “sleight of hand.”
Marcus and Miss Satiné stood outside a pawnshop. They stared into the window, pretending to be admiring the items when, in reality, Marcus had used the window’s reflection to watch the street in front of the warehouse and to watch for Lexford’s signal. The viscount hid behind a wagon piled high with barrels.
Marcus held Miss Satiné’s elbow as if they were a couple. He watched her shallow breathing–the lady’s nerves controlling her thoughts. “If it is too much, you should wait in the church,” he whispered close to her ear.
Satiné glanced up at him. “You must think me the biggest ninny, Your Lordship.”
“You misjudge, Miss Satiné. I am not of the persuasion that women should take unnecessary chances. It probably sounds as if I am quite antiquated, but I believe a woman should seek a man’s protection emotionally and physically.” He smiled at her. “I know women who charge into battle, but it is not for every woman.”
“Why can you not simply enter the warehouse in force and remove my sister?” she asked quietly.
Marcus glanced over his shoulder to make certain nothing had changed. “We have dealt with Murhad Jamot previously, and we know the man is unpredictable. Jamot may have an accomplice in the warehouse, waiting for our attack before killing Miss Aldridge. He might even hold your sister at another location–some place we may not discover until it is too late. We must try to capture Miss Aldridge’s abductor rather than kill him.”
“You speak of killing as if it is commonplace.” Miss Satiné’s eyes grew in concern.
Marcus took time to word his response carefully. “Those who have seen battle–experienced war–speak of death more often than do others in everyday life, but do not take that commonality as acceptance. We respect death for its power–its all-encompassing strength–for good and for evil. Sometimes bringing about a death makes a difference in many lives–in that case, it is necessary.” He paused, uncomfortable with his own thoughts. “Does that make any sense?”
“It makes perfect sense, Lord Yardley. I had never thought of death in that manner.” She touched his arm, and Marcus felt her empathy.
From behind him, in the glass, Marcus saw the door to the warehouse open, and Jamot appeared on the street. The Baloch rolled his head as if stretching his neck and shoulders. Then the man turned to fasten the door and walk away toward a nearby inn to break his fast. “It is time,” he said flatly. Miss Satiné’s apprehension showed. “Go stand by the alley’s opening. You know what to do, but take no chances.”
“I will be well,” she said with little confidence.
Marcus squeezed her hand. “I will be close. I will permit nothing to happen to you.”
Cashé waited with her uncle, outside a nearby blacksmith shop. “You seem very composed,” Ashton told her as he leaned away from the side of the building to peek at the open street leading to the warehouse.
“I am not the type to have a case of the vapors,” she assured him, but Cashé quickly added, “Yet, if I appear calm it is purely a nice façade.”
Her uncle took her hand in his and brought it to rest over his heart. “I have longed to see you again. It grieves me that we have had so little time together. Your mother–my sister–never wanted you girls separated. My heart beats a bit easier today knowing you are before me. Even with Velvet’s crisis, it is important for you to know that.”
Cashé stared deeply into his eyes, noting how the lines creased his temples. She had always wondered how Uncle Samuel and his mother had chosen which sister went to which relative. She wanted to ask the baron how Satiné had come to him, but she did not want to really know that Uncle Charles had left her behind because she was the least loved or even the least lovable. “We should make an effort to be together more often.” She cupped his face with her free hand. “I would like to know my mother’s family...to reacquaint with cousins and aunts. It is difficult with the distance between us to be more to each other, but I will try, Uncle Charles. Truly, I will.”
“As will I,” he whispered quietly. “Now that you are before me, I will have a difficult time allowing you to return to Scotland.”
“I will write Uncle Samuel and ask his permission to extend my visit with you.” Cashé noted his slight frown, but before she could respond, the baron took a tighter grip on her hand.
“It is time to move into position.”
They followed the dark skinned man some half block behind. He made his way to the inn, and she and the baron crossed to the pawnshop and entered. Cashé noted how her sister waited by the opening leading to the alley, but she did not turn her head. Although any passerby could identify the similarities between them, it was important not to appear to be together. She also allowed her eyes to follow Lord Yardley’s retreat between the buildings surrounding the warehouse. Without conscious thought, she said a prayer for his safety.
At a run, Marcus darted between the buildings and climbed a high fence to guarantee that Fowler made it into the building’s upper level. If the duke failed, it fell to Marcus to complete the assignment. He waited in the alleyway as Fowler managed to lower himself over the building’s edge and get a finger-hold on the window frame.
“Anything?” he hissed through gritted teeth.
Fowler peered through the window and shook his head in the negative. Then the duke began to frantically kick at the window, sending shards of glass tumbling to the ground, and Marcus took cover, but he watched carefully for Fowler’s success.
“Stop Jamot’s return!” Fowler ordered before crawling through the window.
To Marcus, that meant his friend had found Miss Aldridge. Leaving the duke to do his job, Marcus scrambled over a low wall and dropped onto the street level just as Jamot exited the inn. As if he had no cares, the Baloch carried a loaf of bread under his arm. He strolled leisurely toward the warehouse. The man actually whistled a tune. The docks were a good place for the Baloch to blend into English society. In London, Jamot would stand out.
Marcus motioned to Satiné to cross the busy street. On cue, she darted from beside the warehouse and crossed behind a merchant’s cart, before racing into a dead end alleyway.
As predicted, Jamot took notice of the blue dress and coal black hair. The man threw down the loaf of bread and walked quickly to the alley’s opening. Marcus raced to the pawnshop, bursting through the main door and pushing his way toward the rear entrance. The plan was for Satiné to enter the building through the back, but when he reached the door, boxes blocked the entrance. Had Baron Ashton not made arrangements with the shop owner? “Damn!” He began throwing boxes to the side to reach the door. If Jamot caught Satiné, the man would kill her!
“What is it?” The baron realized the problem and began to shove boxes left and right. “Hurry!” he ordered, but Marcus already had broken furniture and glass items with his frantic pace. The baron turned to Cashé, who waited for her turn to appear. “Tell Lexford!” Morton yelled as he lifted a huge carton.
Cashé ran for the front, but when she reached it, neither Lexford nor his valet was in sight. It was upon her shoulders to save Satiné. Taking a deep breath, she edged toward the opening. She could hear the dark-skinned man curse as he turned over stacked boxes. Cashé had no idea where Satiné hid, but it was only a matter of time before the man found her. So, brazenly, Cashé stepped into the opening and purposely cleared her throat. She paused but a second to assure that their enemy had seen her, and then she hurried across the busy street into the blacksmith’s shop. They had planned for the foreigner to follow her to the church, but she did not have time to reach the building’s safety before the man would overtake her, so Cashé chose the smithy instead. Luckily, the young apprentice had not seen her sneak in. Neither did he see her hurry pass the tack room and exit the stables, where she caught at the fence rail to steady her knees. “I made it,
” she said with some triumph in her voice. Taking a few quick gulps of air, Cashé started again for the church.
Marcus caught the door’s handle at last. He could hear Satiné trembling against the wood as he jerked the door wide and pulled her roughly into his embrace. Her heart raced as did his, and he refused to release her. Not since Maggie had he felt the frustration of not being able to control his fear.
“Let me see to Cashémere,” the baron said, but Marcus only nodded his agreement. He had told Miss Satiné that he would protect her, and he had come very close to failing again.
“Look at this mess!” The shopkeeper complained from behind him.
Marcus glared at the man. “I should slit your throat from ear to ear,” he growled. “When I finish my business, I will be back to settle with you.” He did not say whether he would take revenge on the man or pay him for his damages. At the moment, even Marcus did not know which he had meant. He opened the back door again and led Satiné to the rear of the church. She would wait there while they lured Jamot to the building.
The baron followed Jamot to the blacksmith’s, where he found the Baloch strong-arming the smith’s apprentice. Not seeing Cashé anywhere, Ashton assumed the guise of a blundering aristocrat. “What goes on here?” he charged.
His interference had irritated Jamot, but it had stopped the Baloch from hurting the young man. Having broken up the tussle, Ashton stepped aside as Jamot shouldered his way past the baron. “Out of my way!” Jamot had snarled.
Then Ashton saw her. Cashé paused on the church’s threshold and then entered the building. The baron admired her bravado; she had played her part magnificently. Immediately, Jamot followed, so Ashton apologized to the youth and exited through the back of the stables to join the others at the church.
Marcus gave the signal before entering the church. He led Satiné to an alcove and told her to wait, and then he realized Kimbolt was alone. “Where is the baron and Miss Cashé?” he demanded.
Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere Page 5
