“Kingsley was not highly placed in the government,” Lord Shaldon said.
“It could have been you then, Lord Shaldon.”
“No. I knew the movements of our operatives but not of our ships.”
“You could have obtained it.”
“Yes, if I needed it. But I am not that source.”
“And neither was Kingsley?”
Shaldon rapped his fingertips on the table. “Who was his circle?” He stared off at the fireplace.
“Kingsley had a wide circle,” Farnsworth said. “No particular fast friends. He and Lady Kingsley socialized with the usual members of the ton.”
Charley stood. “Lady Kingsley.” He began to pace. “Connected to Carvelle. I wonder, did she have any particular friends among the wives?”
“Would they have known anything? Would they have shared?” Kincaid asked thoughtfully.
“Lady Perry could make inquiries,” Graciela said.
Shaldon held her in a steady gaze and shook his head. “She was far too young.”
“And she’s as subtle as a woodpecker,” Charley said.
“Lady Jane,” Kincaid said. “She might have been in London with her cousin during some of that time.”
A shadow passed over Shaldon, almost imperceptible, and when it lifted left a gleam in his eyes. She shared a glance with Charley. He had seen it also.
“Very well,” Charley said. “Gracie, let me return you back to the garden.”
Return her. He would leave her with the women and come back to make plans with the men.
She shook her head. “There was more in my conversation with Captain Llewellyn. He...desires that I sail with him. He offered to send a carriage to pick me up tonight. I told him that I could arrange my own transportation to the inn.”
Charley’s face showed no emotion, but his hands had curled into fists.
“Since I cannot legally marry, his plan is to set me up as his mistress. He did agree that my servants and my daughter can come with us.”
The room stilled around her. She had shocked them, these hard men, and it left her feeling breathless. She wanted to laugh. Only Charley’s face was taking on movement, coming to life.
She pulled a face at him. “Of course, I do not plan to go with him. I would not forfeit all that my father left me. And I find I trust you far more than him.” She stood and leaned on the table, looking around at the men. “However, I do wonder what he is up to. Why is he leaving so soon? Why does he want me to come with him—and no, I do not think it’s my person he really wants.” She sighed. “What is he up to, and what are you gentlemen up to? What are you not telling me?”
Charley brushed up next to her. “What are you not telling us?”
Shaldon shook his head. “Children. Farnsworth, Kincaid count your blessings that you have none. There is perpetual distrust.”
“And perpetual parental plotting,” Charley said.
Like two bulls they were, lowering their chins for a head-butt. They were distracting her from her purpose, which she realized, may have been their intent.
She cleared her throat. “I shall go to him tonight.”
“What?” Charley shouted.
With what must be the self-control of decades, his father froze, but she saw the same word on the tip of his tongue locked behind closed lips.
“I shall borrow one of your coaches and go to the inn where he is staying. I shall take Juan with me.”
Charley’s nerves stiffened. “No.” It was out of the question. As daft as some of Perry’s plots. He couldn’t protect her at the Talbot.
She bit her lip. “I shall tell him I could not get all of us out at the same time. I shall tell him I’m sending Juan back to get Reina and Francisca and they will join us posthaste.” She clenched her hands together and inhaled, a smile forming. “I shall tell him, we must stay an extra day so I can see my banker and withdraw my funds.” She tapped his shoulder and looked at the others. “For that much money, he will stay an extra day, or even longer.”
He gritted his teeth. “And what do you suppose will happen in that inn room tonight?”
“Nothing will happen. I shall have my own bedchamber with Juan standing guard.”
“No.”
Lord Farnsworth cleared his throat. “The Talbot Inn does not have the best reputation, my dear.”
“I shall take my dagger.”
“I wonder if he knows about the book?” Father mused. “Did your mother or Captain Kingsley talk about it with him?”
“I don’t know,” Gracie said. “I don’t know why they would have.”
The hair on his neck rose. “Did the killer search your house in Veracruz?”
She took in a sharp breath. “I don’t know. Papa didn’t say. But I am determined to do this. I will go with or without your permission.”
“I don’t like it,” Father said.
Neither did he, but she was more likely to listen to his father’s reasoning, stubborn woman. “Why not, Father?”
Father’s eyes remained open but still managed to shut down. “I like to know what my people are going into. And Graciela is not trained. I would not put her in danger.”
His bride’s eyes hardened, her color rising, a retort on the tip of her tongue. She was no stranger to danger, but he would not tell his Father that. Those were her secrets to share.
“The Talbot,” Kincaid mused. “Right next to Guys Mad House and the George. The White Hart is right there also on Borough High Street, with the stink of the Anchor Brewery drifting over it all.” He rubbed his chin. “I do know a man there at the Talbot. We’ve done some business there.”
“Thieves and swindlers,” Farnsworth said. “We couldn’t be sure they would hold their tongues.”
Charley squeezed her hand. “Why not send Roddy in again, dressed as Gracie?”
“No,” she said.
He turned her to face him. “I could not bear to see you hurt.”
“I don’t believe he means to hurt me. I want to know what he is up to.”
“Gracie—”
“This isn’t a prison. You promised me.”
“Gracie—”
“You could help me, Charley. You could pose as the coachman. With you and Juan I will be safe.”
“Is he expecting the servants and the child?” Kincaid asked.
“Yes. But we will not bring Reina,” she said. “I will not endanger her.”
“We’d like him to talk.” Farnsworth rubbed his chin. “The child’s absence will make him suspicious, and more dangerous. But the maid’s presence—there is safety in numbers.”
Charley’s eyes lit on the large box, an idea niggling at him. He reached around her and tugged it closer. “Gracie, look what I have here.”
She frowned. “A gift?”
He pulled the string binding it. “It’s a gift for Reina, but you must approve it first.”
She sighed and lifted the lid.
The doll he’d caught sight of two days before stared up at them, its rich brown hair tightly curled, its lips in a pout. It was too large, too brown-haired, too plainly dressed to fly off the shop’s shelf. It had still been there when he’d returned.
“Reina will love it.”
“Yes. But I was wondering, when was the last time Captain Llewellyn saw her?”
Her eyes widened. “If he even looked at her, she was not much more than an infant.” She smiled. “You will help me then?”
“Help you? We’ll do this together.”
Chapter 32
Later, Graciela left the library to change to her traveling gown, and ran into Lady Sirena in the corridor.
She rubbed her belly. “Ah, there you are, Graciela. I’m off for a rest before dinner. Lady Jane has already gone up. She is still tired from the journey and last night’s ball. Are you well? You’ve gone a bit pale.”
She took a deep breath to settle herself. They had agreed they wouldn’t share the plans with the other ladies, lest they decide they must
come along. They’d sent word for Mr. Gibson to stand by. Whether he would tell his wife was anyone’s guess. Lord Bakeley was off seeing to some urgent business matter else he would have been involved in the planning, in spite of the fact that he was likely to leak information to his wife.
“Yes, I am fine,” Graciela lied. “I’m looking for Francisca. Is she back in the nursery?”
“She went in to order Reina’s supper, and Perry promised to bring the wee one up as soon as they’re finished picking flowers and making daisy chains.” She patted Graciela’s hand. “She’ll go straight to sleep tonight after all that fresh garden air. Why don’t you go up and rest a moment? I’ll send a servant to fetch Francisca for you.”
In her bedchamber, Graciela ransacked the press until she found the old gown her father had bought her upon arrival in England, the one she’d worn to travel to Kingsley’s country estate. She pulled the book of sonnets out of her pocket and set it aside, then contorted herself to unfasten her dress and was down to her stays by the time Francisca arrived.
“Help me,” she said, “And then go and get Juan and meet me in the library. We need to talk to the both of you.”
Francisca dropped the dress over her head. “What is this about?”
“It’s about Captain Llewellyn.”
Behind her, Francisca went still. When Graciela looked over her shoulder the woman was frowning.
“Hurry. We are laying a trap for him. I need you and Juan to help me.”
“What of the baby?”
“She is staying here with Lady Perry. Go. I’ll go down to the garden and check on her.”
After she shooed Francisca out the door, she hurriedly packed a small valise, found her shawl and a mantle, and stowed her sheathed dagger in her belt.
The sonnets stared up at her from the bedside table, and she slid them into her pocket. She would meet Charley in the library, but first she needed to see Reina, she needed to make sure her little girl was safe.
Outside, the footman standing guard pointed her toward a side garden. Reina sat on a bench next to Lady Perry, swinging her legs and watching while her new aunt strung blooms together into a crown.
Lady Perry plopped the circlet onto Reina’s head and both of them laughed.
“Good evening, my queen,” Graciela said.
Lady Perry jumped up, looking relieved. “You are here. We were just about to go in.”
“No.” Reina screwed her mouth up in a pout.
“Sweetling,” Lady Perry said. “We’ve been out here all afternoon, and it will be dark soon. We must go in.” She glanced at Graciela. “I must speak with Cook. I promised Sirena and Lady Jane I’d see to the dinner plans. And I sent the nursery maid to check on Francisca. She was supposed to come back.”
Poor Perry. A whole afternoon chasing this little one could be exhausting. “I’m sorry. It was my fault Francisca was delayed. Reina, would you like to wear your crown during your dinner? Come along then.”
“No.” The little girl shook her head furiously, the crown flying off. She clambered down from the bench to retrieve it, pushing Lady Perry aside when she tried to rescue it first.
Her little face had fixed in a red scowl. No one at Shaldon House had yet seen one of her tantrums. The least Graciela could do was spare Lady Perry that.
“You go along,” Graciela said. “She is overtired from all the excitement and very hungry. I’ll sit with her for a few minutes, and by the time we go in, her dinner will be ready.”
“If you are sure, Graciela.”
The look of relief that crossed Perry’s face almost made her laugh. “Yes, I am sure.”
Kincaid met up with Charley in the corridor and followed him into the library where Father was waiting. He’d left soon after they’d begun their plotting and now got right to his report.
“We have men in place at the inn, as well as the docks,” he said.
“And the Duque’s yacht?” Charley asked.
“We have a boat on the river looking for it. Llewellyn’s ship is out near the Nore. He has a launch standing by to take him back out.”
“Has he arrived at the Talbot?” Father asked.
“Not yet.”
Charley walked to the table and picked up the swaddled doll. Graciela was late, and his nerves were prickling.
The door opened and Francisca entered, Juan following her.
Charley’s heart raced. “Where is Gracie?”
“We were to meet her here,” Juan said.
“She is in the garden with Reina,” Francisca said. “I’ll just go and get—”
Charley tossed her the doll, pushed past them, and raced down the stairs.
Perry greeted him on the walkway near the kitchens.
“What the devil, Perry?” he said.
“She’s not alone. The footman is with her in the side garden.”
He hurried past her and heard a child shriek.
Perry snatched at his arm. “Reina was tired. She’s having a tantrum.”
And then a woman screamed.
The garden bench was still warm from Lady Perry. Graciela watched as Reina plopped down tiredly on the flagstones and began plucking at the petals of scattered flowers. The footman standing guard was beginning to wilt also.
She couldn’t remember this placid young man’s name. “We shall get you inside for your tea soon,” she said. “Have you been out here all afternoon?”
He nodded. “Yes, miss.”
Francisca’s comments about strangers lurking in the square came back to her with a sense of unease. “Mija, Cook told me there might be some chocolate for a girl who eats all of her pudding.”
The little head came up, but her eyes looked past Graciela, her mouth dropped in alarm, and the hair on Graciela’s neck rose. She flew from the bench, scooped up her child, and the air stirred as the footman rushed past.
“Run,” he shouted.
She glanced back. Two men in rough clothing had come over the garden fence and were already attacking their guard.
Reina wailed. Graciela took off toward the house.
A hand grasped her shoulder and spun her around. He was coarse, unshaven, and pockmarked—a man from the docks, she would guess, and that told her all she needed to know about who had hired him.
She clutched Reina tighter. “I suppose the Captain sent you,” she said.
He blinked.
Reina whimpered, a choking whine starting deep in her chest. “Let me get the child inside, get my cloak, and I’ll come with you.”
Pow. Oof. With a crash, the footman was down. The other villain brought his boot back to kick him.
“Stop that,” Graciela shouted.
He turned his attention on her, and her breath eased, and then hitched up again as he walked her way.
Help would come soon, she prayed. She need only stall.
“’Ere now.” Her first captor reached over and grabbed Reina.
Panic roared in her. “No,” she shouted. “Stop. What are you…I’ll come with you. I’ll go to him. Leave her.” She held her baby, both of them screaming in this tug-of-war. Hands grasped her from behind, another force too powerful. She couldn’t hold on, and Reina was yanked away.
Her baby’s look of pure terror sent Graciela flailing.
“I’ll go to him.”
Charley made out Graciela’s words over the screeching child.
A man rushed headlong from the side garden, the wriggling bundle tucked at his side like a barrel of rum.
“Perry,” Charley yelled and thrust out his foot sending the man and the child flying.
Charley reached for Reina, but Perry was there, diving to cushion her fall. While she wrestled the man, he grabbed for an urn of potted geraniums and coshed him.
Reina screamed, and kicked, and flailed her little arms. Charley scooped her up and helped Perry to stand.
“He needn’t do this.” Graciela’s voice sounded panicky. “What—don’t touch me,” she shouted.
He hand
ed the screaming bundle to Perry. “Get her inside.”
She hesitated. The man on the ground stirred.
“Go,” he said, and she took off.
He picked up the urn and hit the downed man again.
Gracie came around the corner, another man holding her, his hand smashing her breast.
White hot rage roared in him, mirroring the fury twisting her face.
He took in a breath. He was armed with a garden pot. The villain had a knife, not poised at any of her vital spots. Yet blood dripped down the man’s knife and his sleeve.
Reina’s screams retreated, and other footsteps grew louder. Their men, he hoped.
“Are you hurt, Gracie?” he asked.
She shook her head. “The footman—”
She wheezed as the thug yanked her up tight, that hand taking a firmer grip on her breast.
Blood roared in him. Damn, but he would slice that hand off. “What the devil are you doing in Lord Shaldon’s garden?” he shouted. “Let the lady go.”
“Not ’til I’m out of here. Move out the way and let me pass.”
“The footman is—oof.” Gracie huffed and gritted her teeth.
Kincaid or one of the men would be going out a window to circle around behind this devil. He just had to keep him talking.
And then he could kill him.
“Shoot him,” Gracie said.
“Shut up.” The villain gripped her awkwardly, his knife arm trembling. Their footman had sliced him. Some of that blood was his.
“Let the lady go,” Charley said. “Whatever the Captain is paying you, we can do better.”
The thug’s brows lifted, and then drew together. He took a step and Graciela dug in the heels of her sturdy boots.
“Move,” the man growled.
“More money,” Charley said, “for the lady’s life.”
“An’ I should trust a rich swell?”
While he talked, she squirmed, rolling away, her hands moving—
She had her blade.
Charley took a step, raising the urn.
The man yanked on her and stopped, wheezing, eyes popping in astonishment. His grip loosened and he slid to his knees, dropping all the way to the flag-stoned walk.
The Rogue's Last Scandal: A Regency Romance (Sons of the Spy Lord Book 3) Page 26
