“Goddamn you.” He huffed and wheezed, “Goddamn you, you bitch,”
The urn slid from Charley’s fingers, shattering as he reached for her.
“Gracie.” He eased the dripping blade from her grip.
“I’ll take it.” Kincaid had finally appeared.
Charley folded her into his arms and trembled with her.
With her nose buried in Charley’s coat, Graciela could begin to breathe again without smelling rot, blood, and death.
Dear God, she’d almost lost her child.
She raised her head. “Reina?”
“Is safe,” he said. “Perry has her in hand.”
Tears rushed her eyes. “The footman—”
“Shhh. We’ll see to him.”
Men bustled around them. She could sense them, smell them. They were the Earl of Shaldon’s men. Charley’s men.
She buried her head again, taking his comfort.
“You did well, love,” he murmured, and “Thank God, Gracie,” and “I’m so sorry.”
“How is she?”
Lord Shaldon had joined them, his voice filled with concern.
She raised her head. “I am fine, sir.” But her voice had trembled and more tears came.
She had felt a pop as her blade dove into the villain’s back. She had surely killed that man. Her chest constricted, and she gasped, reaching for control, trying to breathe.
Charley held her, stroked her, murmured to her, and she finally managed a full breath.
Lord Shaldon was frowning. “I’m so very sorry, Graciela. This should not have happened. Did you by chance recognize them?”
The arms holding her tensed. He did not want his father questioning her, not yet.
“It’s all right, Charley.” She shook her head and blinked. “No, but they are sailors or lumpers, someone from the docks, I’d say.”
“Yes. This adds a new wrinkle.” Charley’s father beckoned a man. “We shall see if that one is able to talk. Get a bucket of water.”
A child’s piercing shriek came from the house. Dios, while she sniffled and cried, her baby was terrified.
“Go,” Charley released her, eyes burning.
She grabbed his arm. “You come, too. You always calm her.”
“It’s you she needs now. I’m going to see what this one says.”
She glanced at her captor. He didn’t move.
The other one, the one who’d taken Reina, was shaking off water and stirring.
Another wail split the twilight and tore into her heart. She dropped a kiss on his cheek and left, vaguely aware of a footman shadowing her. She’d be guarded everywhere she went, and Reina also. She’d have no freedom now at all.
Llewellyn would pay for this.
Inside, Reina sprawled on the kitchen floor kicking, crying, holding her breath, a circle of women around her.
Graciela pushed her way through them and dropped to her knees.
Outside, Charley stood with his father, watching their men help the footman to his feet, as well as the villain he’d coshed. The other…
“Damn it, Father, I don’t want her out there tonight.”
“I know. Yet she’ll want revenge.”
“Aye,” Kincaid said, joining them. “She truly is a colonial girl. That was a poke right to the kidney. Captain Kingsley taught her well.” He clapped Charley on the shoulder. “Ye’ve got yourself a brave lass.”
“Braver than either of you could ever imagine,” Charley said.
Father cast him a curious look, but held his questions. Not that Charley would share Graciela’s secrets.
And…did she have more? I’ll go to him, she’d said to that bastard.
He shook off his doubts. She’d been bluffing, buying time until help arrived.
Behind them, the man Charley had coshed groaned.
“Ah, very good,” Kincaid said. “Let’s get this one to spill his guts.”
By the time they’d reached the nursery, Reina had slipped into a hiccupping whimper. Settling her into sleep required a hot meal, a posset, and a good deal of rocking, but she finally slipped off.
With Lady Perry and Lady Jane standing watch, a nursery maid on duty, and a footman in the corridor outside, Graciela went to change out of her bloodied gown.
On the walk to her bedchamber, Francisca said nothing. When the door closed on them, she silently pulled Graciela into her arms, pressing her tight to her thin breast.
“Thanks be to God,” the maid said.
Her dark eyes shone with tears. Graciela hadn’t seen this much emotion since Francisca returned to Veracruz and learned that her mother had died.
She took the maid’s hand. “Do not worry, we will get our revenge.”
Francisca’s mouth firmed and she nodded, and then quickly turned Graciela and began undressing her. She helped her into one of her simple, modest, colonial gowns and was lacing her up when Charley came in.
“How is Reina?” He kissed her.
“Finally sleeping.”
Francisca tugged Graciela’s skirt into place and turned to leave.
“Wait, Francisca,” he said.
“I go back to Reina.”
He shook his head. “No. Meet us in the library. Juan is there already.”
“But…you do not mean for her to go to him? That man tried to take Graciela. You would let her walk into danger again?”
“I have to go,” Gracie said. “Llewellyn must pay for what he did, for what he is planning to do. I am going to go.”
Charley’s frown told her he agreed with Francisca.
She took his hand. “You know I must do this.”
His mouth firmed. “If he’s expecting all of you, it would be best if you and Juan went also, Francisca. But if you wish to stay behind—”
“No.” Francisca’s eyes blazed. “Two times we left you and bad things happened. We will not have a third.”
When the door closed on the maid, Charley took her into his arms. “I can’t help thinking Francisca is right.”
“That man,” she said shakily. “Did he…is he…?”
He took in a breath, debating whether to lie. Taking a human life was a burden she shouldn’t have to bear.
Yet her mother had borne it to save her daughter, hadn’t she?
She leaned back and looked up at him, clear-eyed. “Tell me, Charley.”
“Yes.”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“You did what you must. You saved Reina’s life. Who knows what they had in mind for her.”
“For her?”
He took a deep breath. “The man I coshed is talking.” He gripped her hands, trying to quell the anger churning inside him. “They weren’t there for you. They were there to take Reina.”
She stepped away from him and went to her discarded gown, retrieving the small book and stowing it into her pocket. She straightened, then bent over the garment again.
When she turned she held the empty dagger’s sheath. “Where is my blade?”
“I handed it to Kincaid. We’ll get it back.”
“Very well, Charley. Let us go and find Captain Llewellyn.”
When she entered the library on Charley’s arm, Lord Shaldon came around the table. Lord Bakeley and Mr. Gibson hovered nearby, and Kincaid waited near the window. Juan and Francisca stood by a shelf bursting with books.
It had been a mere few nights ago that she’d stumbled into this room, planning how to run away and find Captain Llewellyn and wondering if they might have a volume of Cervantes to share with Francisca.
What a sea-change fate had wrought—she’d learned the truth of Captain Llewellyn and risked all of Papa’s secrets to marry into this spy lord’s family. Instead of sharing the plot of a book, she and Francisca were plotting with all of these men.
Or, not all. “Where is Lord Farnsworth?” she asked.
“He’s gone ahead to see to things,” Lord Shaldon said. “He’ll be back shortly.”
Charley stepped away, and L
ord Shaldon took both her hands in his much larger ones.
“Are you all right then?”
Charley’s father, like her own papa, had seen much and had suffered much. Now his kindness almost undid her. She took in a breath. “I am.”
“And Reina?”
“She is finally sleeping. Lady Perry and Lady Jane will stay with her. How is the footman? He did try to fight them.”
Lord Bakeley stirred. “The surgeon has seen to him and believes he’ll survive. And you are right, he didn’t betray us.”
Us. She was part of them, part of this family, as was Reina. Moisture flooded her eyes.
Lord Shaldon placed the dagger into her hands. It gleamed in the candlelight, the marks etched in the hilt and the blade stark and clearly delineated.
Her gaze dropped. Her hands trembled.
“I cleaned it myself,” Lord Shaldon said. “Did your father give you this before he left?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
“The design is quite unique.”
She sheathed the dagger and lifted her chin, holding his gaze. “It is an Azteca design, he said.”
“Hmm.” Lord Shaldon went to the sideboard, poured a sherry, and brought it to her. “Have this.”
Out of politeness, she took a sip, praying her heart would slow down before it jumped out of her chest. “What have you found?’
“They staged a distraction,” Mr. Gibson said, “An accident the next street over that pulled most of the grooms out to help. Damned clever.”
Nodding, she swallowed another few drops.
“Have you eaten?” Lord Bakeley asked. “None of us have. We’ve sent Sirena off to see about food.”
“Truly, I have no appetite. Do we know who those men are?”
“Not yet,” Kincaid said. “Most likely they were brought from the docks to do a bit of work.”
The door opened with a swishing of skirts and clattering of dishes.
“Come.” Charley led her to a chair. “We’ll all need some nourishment for the night ahead.” He signaled to Juan. “Juan, you and Francisca also.”
Shock registered on their faces, and her heart lifted. Living in close quarters during their travels, she’d often shared meals with her servants. If she did not eat, they would not eat.
“Very well,” she said. “I’ll just have a nibble while we discuss the plans.”
Chapter 33
“Cook has gone all out for us.” Charley dished up more meat and vegetables for Gracie’s plate. She’d push it around a bit before finally eating some of it, staring into space with visions of the nightmare in the garden. Gads, but he wished this night was over.
Kincaid had launched into what was for him a rambling discussion of the pluses and minuses of traveling to Southwark via Westminster Bridge or London Bridge, as though he were drawing this out, killing time.
When Farnsworth burst in, his hair damp, his neck cloth askew, Charley knew why Kincaid had stalled. Bink’s temporary ward, Thomas Beauverde, slid in behind him.
They were up to something, these wily old men.
Father saw Thomas also, and glanced at Bink, who looked up from his full plate and sent the boy a glare. Father signaled Thomas to take a seat.
Young Thomas was a cagey one, barely fourteen, and yet Charley would bet his next quarter’s allowance, Father had plans to groom the boy for the service.
Bink would not be happy about that.
“I don’t like it.” Farnsworth took a plate and filled it. “Men milling about in front of every inn on Borough High Street.”
Gracie sat up. “They’re laying an ambush.”
That’s my girl. Charley squeezed her shoulder. “Was he there?”
“He checked into the Talbot earlier and went out. No bags. We got a man in to search his room. Not a thing there.”
“So where is he staying?” Charley asked.
They waited for Farnsworth to swallow.
“My guess? The White Hart.” He forked a piece of potato and chewed thoughtfully. “I also saw Payne-Elsdon in the public room there.”
“Who?” Gracie asked.
“A fellow club member,” Charley said. “An agent. For whom, we don’t know.”
“We’re likely to find out tonight,” Kincaid said.
“What do you mean?” Gracie asked.
“If Payne-Elsdon spotted one of our men,” Farnsworth said, “whichever villain is missing tonight might be the one he works for.”
“But who is there besides Llewellyn, Kingsley, and Carvelle?” she asked. “And you’ve said Carvelle is in Kent, and Kingsley left for his country estate.”
She’d forgotten to mention the Duque.
“Something else,” Farnsworth said. “A woman took a suite of rooms at the White Hart this morning. From the description, I’d say it could be Lady Kingsley.”
Utensils clattered as Gracie jumped up. “Lady Kingsley?”
“Well, well,” Kincaid said. “Our man said Kingsley left town today, and she wasn’t with him.”
“Dear God.” Charley pinched the bridge of his nose where a headache was starting. “The woman who visited him that day at his hotel. What the devil could be their connection?”
Gracie stood and began to pace. “And why match me up with Carvelle if she is in league with the Captain. Has Carvelle surfaced anywhere nearby?”
“No,” Kincaid said. “Mayhap Kingsley found another way to pay off that debt to Carvelle.”
A debt to be paid, the Duquesa had said. But perhaps not the Duque’s debt. Perhaps she had found a way to get the Duque to pay Kingsley’s debt to Carvelle.
“I don’t understand.” Graciela turned to him, eyes burning. “It can’t be her. Llewellyn is so far beneath her socially, she wouldn’t take him as a lover.” She fisted her hands. “Let’s go. Let’s go now.”
Lord Shaldon cleared his throat. “There is more, Graciela. The man who talked provided enough details that we were able to send a message in his name. We told Llewellyn they’d got the child safely away, but that she was troublesome and they’d secured her with a woman he knows.”
Her eyes searched the room as she took in what Father had said.
“We enclosed a lock of hair,” Father said, “contributed by one of the maids.”
“And a request for more money?” Lady Sirena asked.
“We hinted at it.”
“He’ll wonder if she’s dead,” Gracie said, her voice shaking. “But…it won’t matter to him, will it? As long as she’s missing, he knows I will come.”
“It will matter enough to make him nervous,” Charley said. “Perhaps reckless, Father.”
“Reckless enough to send a note,” Kincaid said matter-of-factly.
Father unfolded a paper. “Yes. This came for you tonight, Gracie. Time being of the essence, we took the liberty of reading it.”
Hands shaking, she took the wrinkled paper, and Charley read over her shoulder.
My Dear Grace,
Do not be alarmed at your child being taken. I have it on good report that Shaldon has threatened it. I am safeguarding it at the place I told you about on my visit. Bring all of your things, and of course your servants also, and I will get you to safety far from the reach of Shaldon’s influence.
L
“Good God.” Charley took the paper and read the note aloud, translating it into Spanish for Juan and Francisca.
Gracie began to pace again. “He wants me to go to the Talbot, but he’s not staying there. And there are men at every inn on the street. And he has his woman at the White Hart.”
“As you said, my love, they’re laying an ambush.”
“Do we have more men than he does?” Bakeley asked.
“He will have his ship’s crew,” Gracie said. “He will need no more than a few men to manage while the ship lies at anchor. The ones with him will not be afraid of a fight.”
Lord Bakeley cleared his throat. “May I point out that we have you, Graciela, and your child? We need
not send anyone into danger tonight. We simply fail to show up, and send a coastal patrol after Llewellyn when he decides he’s waited long enough.”
“Bakeley is right,” Charley said.
She cast him a look filled with anger. “What is he truly after? Something important enough to try to steal Reina, to force me to appear. If we don’t risk an ambush, then what? We do nothing?”
His heart twisted. He knew what she wanted—the truth, and revenge. Tonight was her chance to confront Llewellyn in person without the constraints of the British legal system. If they waited, if they sent the authorities, and the Captain was killed on arrest, she would never have that opportunity.
And somehow, he had to give her that.
“There might be a third way,” he said.
Father nodded, the crafty old spy, as if he was one step ahead, which he probably was.
“We’ll meet with him at a place and time of our choosing.”
“And how will we do that, Charley?” she asked. “Send a note and say, ‘Here I am, come and get me?’”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I had in mind, perhaps worded a bit less directly. We’ll need Juan and Francisca to play their parts. And we’ll need someone sly to deliver your message to the Talbot and get away without being snatched up.” He turned his gaze on the boy.
Thomas grinned.
“No,” Bink said. “I’ll go.”
“Llewellyn knows you,” Charley said.
“I’m sworn to Hackwell to protect this boy while he’s in my home.”
Bakeley laughed. “A risky oath, that.”
“Then go along with him, Bink,” Charley said, “but stay in the background and let him make the delivery.”
Father rapped the table. “Before we decide anything, let’s hear the rest of your plan, Charles.”
Chapter 34
“I do not like this place.” Francisca’s whisper tickled Graciela’s ear.
From his spot near the door, Juan shushed her.
They were in a part of London a far cry from Mayfair, in all ways. The smell of the sea was stronger here, and the bustle of sordid life outside carried in through the window left open in hopes of hearing the Captain’s approach. The street had been lined with beggars and drunks who’d spilled out of taverns, some of them Shaldon’s men, some of them belonging to the neighborhood crime lord.
The Rogue's Last Scandal: A Regency Romance (Sons of the Spy Lord Book 3) Page 27
