by Dawn Ireland
French doors loomed ahead, opening onto the garden terrace. Two men dressed as footmen lurked nearby, their gazes on those coming and going.
She passed through the doors and gingerly crossed the flagstone terrace, trying not to stub her toe on the occasional uneven stone. Japanese lanterns created pools of light with flickering darkness between them.
It became a challenge to avoid the random couples occupying the benches as she made her way to the farthest end of the terrace, near the back of the building. She leaned out over the stone railing, studying the back of the townhouse.
There didn’t appear to be any activity in this area, as the gardens didn’t surround the side of the house to the back. Layers of darkness stretched before her, obscuring all but the largest objects. Good, she’d never be seen. The trellis appeared to be her only option.
Confident once again, now that she had a plan, she retraced her steps and entered the ballroom. Her gaze immediately sought Declan, standing perhaps twenty feet away. As if he could feel her presence, he looked at her and smiled.
Her heart constricted. She wanted to remember him like this. That devilish grin of his stealing her breath. His smoldering look brought every aspect of their recent kiss into sharp focus, causing her body to tingle. She reached up and ran her fingers over the pearls, coming to rest on the cold metal lions.
Declan excused himself from the knot of men he’d been conversing with and headed her direction. Her gaze was locked on his, or she would have seen Catrina approaching.
Resplendent in white, her nemesis took Declan’s arm, propelling him in a different direction. He appeared unwilling to accompany her, but Catrina said something to him she couldn’t hear over the din of music and voices. Catrina rested a hand on his chest, a slight pout on her lips, her look imploring.
He glanced back at Alex, giving her an apologetic smile, before allowing Catrina to lead him into the throng. His gaze remained locked on her until he was swallowed by the swirl of dancing couples.
She watched the spot where he had disappeared for several minutes, feeling as if she were frozen in place. She could picture years of that moment, watching on the fringes, as Catrina led him away. Despair welled up, but she squelched it, preferring anger. What right did he have to play with her emotions? She had a choice.
He didn’t love her.
She needed to accept that and go on.
As if a spell had been lifted, she turned and headed toward the hallway. Nodding to acquaintances along the way, she managed to make it to the corridor. The main staircase for the third floor was to the right, so she went left. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see her go to her room. If Declan found out, he might come to see what was wrong.
She turned a corner and came to the end of the hallway. A meager candle in a sconce lit a small servant’s staircase. It was deserted with the ball in progress.
After she removed the candle from its holder, she looked both directions then turned the latch at her waist. Her wooden panniers collapsed with a small clicking noise, like the rattle of sticks in the wind. Thank God she’d insisted on these with Colettee. With one last look around, she gathered the extra material to her skirt over one arm and headed up the narrow stairs.
It felt like hours before she successfully reached her room. She sheltered the candle’s flame from drafts with her hand as she lit her lamp on the nightstand, then checked the time on the mantle clock. Ten thirty. She’d better hurry if she was going to meet Paddy. The longer he had to wait, the greater the likelihood they’d be caught.
Unwilling to waste time, she reached for the knife in her boot. With a little maneuvering, she managed to slice the laces up the back of her gown and tug the garment off until it pooled on the floor. She stepped out of the peach silk circle and untied the panniers, which joined the pile of clothing. She ran to her wardrobe, her chemise fluttering about her legs.
With unsteady hands, she dressed in her breeches, shirt, and boots. Her neck sheath chaffed a bit when she rolled her shoulders, but she didn’t care. Two weapons would be better than one. She knew from experience that the docks could be a dangerous place.
She crossed to the bed and slid her bundle out from under the mattress. The top of the sack was secured with rope, and she used the excess to tie it around her waist, then slid her belongings around behind her so they wouldn’t get in her way.
Now, to get out of the house unseen. She went to her window, unhooked the latch and peered out. The spicy smell of roses wafted upward from the trellis that climbed the brick wall.
The garden paths were located on the left, sparsely lit by lanterns. To the right, about even with her window, were several rows of trees, randomly spaced to create the illusion of a forest.
No one from the garden would see her in the dark, but someone might be close enough to hear her. With luck, she’d avoid any trysting lovers who found the lure of the trees too irresistible.
She swung one leg over the windowsill and straddled the wall. With a last look around her room, she tried not to think about Declan, but the image of an angelic Catrina leading him away fixed itself in her mind.
On a deep breath, she reached out, grasped the trellis, then yanked on it with all her might. Relief washed over her when the framework didn’t move. She’d counted on the lattice being securely anchored to the building.
Refusing to look down, she dragged herself over until her feet could find a purchase in the wooden grid. The trellis went to the roof, but she was fortunate the roses only reached the top of the first floor. Even so, she suspected she’d be sorry she hadn’t worn gloves. Splinters from the rough wooden slats were already digging into her palms. What would the roses do?
She lowered herself a few feet at a time, testing each new step for possible breaks. The first two floors were relatively uneventful. Even the dizzying height didn’t bother her, as long as she didn’t look down. But the roses proved to be everything she’d feared. They tore at her clothing, impeding her progress and causing countless cuts on her hands, arms, and legs.
Time was slipping away. She had to get down now. Paddy couldn’t wait. Still about ten feet from the bottom, she launched herself into the air and landed with a thud in the soft mud. Muck oozed up between her fingers. The welts from the roses started to sting, and her backside felt wet and sore, but at least she was free.
She got to her feet and brushed her hands on her breeches, then crept through the trees toward the back of the garden. Paddy’s note said he would meet her by the rear gate. The new moon provided little light to illuminate her path; even the open areas were no more than varying degrees of shadow.
As she approached the wrought iron gate, a dark object lay in her path. Odd, why would the gardener allow something to block the exit? She bent to move the obstacle.
It was a man, face down and very still.
Wrongness settled into the silence around her. She listened, but didn’t hear anyone nearby. With an unsteady hand she turned him over. A sticky substance covered her fingers, and the metallic odor of blood hung in the dew-laden air. She bit back a wave of nausea. Even as she checked, she knew there wasn’t a pulse. The man’s pale face appeared perfect in death, almost luminous, like marble freshly polished.
Paddy would never have done this. Her heart thudded in slow, deliberate beats against her chest. Where was the killer? Her muscles bunched as she propelled herself forward, intending to jump the body and dart for the gate.
Two arms wrapped around her from behind, effectively pinning her elbows to her sides. She opened her mouth to scream. A foul tasting rag was shoved past her lips, nearly choking her. In spite of her efforts, a small amount of bitter liquid trickled down her throat. She recognized the taste of laudanum.
With her dwindling strength, she tried to kick her captor’s shins. One of her blows connected. A grunt of pain followed, but the arms didn’t loosen.
She squirmed. Her breath felt as if it were being squeezed out of her body. Lethargy swept over her. She couldn
’t fight anymore. Lights flashed bright spots behind her eyelids.
“That’s enough. We don’t want her dead. Yet.”
A silken voice penetrated the encroaching darkness. She fought to put her scattered thoughts together. A name rang alarm bells in her brain seconds before she passed out.
Luther.
Chapter 22
Where was she? Declan scanned the swirling dancers and mingling guests for the eighth time in the last fifteen minutes. It was almost midnight. Alex’s mahogany locks shouldn’t be hard to spot in this room full of colorless women.
He never should have let Catrina drag him away from Alex with one of her dramatics. He shoved his way through the crowd, heading for the exit. Startled expressions greeted his progress. Perhaps she’d gone to her room. It was the only place he hadn’t checked.
As he passed into the hallway and came to the staircase, a strong sense of foreboding caused him to take the stairs two at a time. At the top, he traversed the short distance to her room.
After a sharp knock on the door, he waited several moments. “Alex, are you all right?” When he didn’t receive a reply, he turned the knob. It was unlocked.
He entered the empty bedroom to find a lamp burning. Someone had been here. Scanning the room, he saw a pile of clothing on the floor. On closer inspection, he realized it was the dress Alex had been wearing this evening.
Apprehension filled him as he searched for clues as to her whereabouts. Her bed was made. Everything seemed in order. The pearls he’d given her caught his eye. He crossed to her dressing table and saw the note addressed to him. He broke the seal and studied its contents.
Declan,
I can’t marry you. Please don’t try to find me.
Alex
Can’t marry him? He re-read the note. She was being stubborn. She may not want to marry him, but she damn well was going to.
Anger warred with fear for her safety. Her timing couldn’t have been worse. He had to find her before Addington did.
He stuffed the note in his pocket, left the room, and hurried down the stairs. At the bottom, he stopped long enough to ask a servant to find Morgan and Bradford and bring them to the library.
Pacing the area in front of the library’s stone fireplace, he tried to make sense of Alex’s actions. What had changed since she’d agreed to marry him? He’d thought they were getting along admirably. Granted, she’d seemed distracted this afternoon, except during their kiss.
Her response to his kiss had haunted him all evening. He’d hoped it represented a mutual hunger, an indication she might not be adverse to a speedy marriage. Instead, it was goodbye.
Looking somewhat exasperated, Morgan burst into the room. “And what is it your wanting to see me about? You’re supposed to be announcing your engagement. Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.”
“An engagement requires a betrothed. Mine appears to be missing.”
“What?”
He handed Morgan the note. “She’s gone.”
“What might you have done to her?”
“Dammit, Morgan, I’m not such a blackguard. I haven’t done anything.”
Morgan didn’t respond, but his raised eyebrows told Declan he didn’t believe him.
Bradford entered bearing a large envelope. “Shouldn’t you be...?” He looked at both their faces. “What’s happened?”
“Your cousin managed to scare Lady Lochsdale off. I’m thinking wherever she’s gone, it’s not safe.”
Bradford’s incredulous look was almost comical. “She couldn’t have left without one of my men reporting it.”
“You don’t know Lady Lochsdale.” Every muscle in his body felt tight. Where could she have gone? He needed to do something. “Have your men search the grounds as unobtrusively as possible. She might still be on the property."
“I’ll check on Addington’s whereabouts as well.” Bradford headed toward the door, then stopped and turned. “A servant handed me this. It’s addressed to you.” He gave it to him and left.
Morgan went to the liquor cabinet and poured them both a drink. He accepted the proffered glass and sat behind his desk, then took a long swallow. Alex didn’t know anyone in London. She was out there somewhere.
Alone.
He toyed with the envelope fashioned from folded paper. It felt heavy, as if it contained more than correspondence. The crest on the wax seal seemed familiar, two rampant lions back to back. He grabbed his bone-handled letter opener and slit the closure. The envelope sprung open and rows of diamonds poured out, making a constant tapping sound as they hit the polished wood desk.
Alex’s bracelet.
“What is it?” Morgan leaned forward to get a better look.
With an unsteady hand, he picked up the diamond-studded mesh band. The lamp’s light bounced off the jewelry, sending points of light skipping across the desk. “It’s Lady Lochsdale’s.” He handed the bracelet to Morgan and smoothed out the letter, then slid the oil lamp closer.
Lord Worthington,
By now Lady Lochsdale and I shall be well on our way to Gretna Green. Lady Lochsdale has agreed to be my wife. Please don’t try to follow us. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to distress her. You’ve done enough. This is the way it was meant to be.
The arrogant bastard hadn’t even signed his name. He passed the note to Morgan. When had he last seen Alex? Perhaps ten-thirty? If so, they only had an hour head start.
Morgan perused the note, his brow furrowed. “She’d not have gone with Addington of her own free will. Would she?”
“No.” His voice sounded harsh. She’d never agree to marry a man like Addington. A man who was capable of anything. A man who may no longer need her alive.
For the first time in his life, he felt fear. Until this moment, he’d never had anything to lose.
Existing. That’s all he’d been doing before Alex. In spite of his resolution, he was irreparably tied to a slip of a woman with a penchant for danger. He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. God help him—he was in love with her!
“Worthington, are you all right?”
He opened his eyes. “No. Dammit. I’m not all right. I’m in love with her.”
“Are you now?” Morgan gave him a superior smile. “It’s glad I am you’re finally admitting it. I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever realize the obvious.”
Let Morgan gloat. It was a relief to finally acknowledge he loved her, but this was not the time to examine what a mess he’d made of things. Her life was at stake. “If Addington harms her in any way, I’ll kill him slowly, not quickly as I plan to do.”
Morgan’s smirk faltered. “I’m hoping it’s not too late.”
“If they went by carriage, I’ll catch them.” He stuffed the bracelet in his pocket and hurried from the room, not bothering to see if Morgan followed.
Bradford met him at the entrance to the ballroom, his face grim. “Two of my men are dead. We found them by the back gate.”
Morgan handed Bradford the note. He scanned it briefly, then passed it back to Declan.
“So, he’s made his move,” Adrian said. “It seems he anticipated us.”
Declan crumpled the paper, his hand curling into a tight fist. “I’m going to get her back. Bradford, do you think you can find some way to delay Addington’s petition for a few days? Right now, it’s all that’s keeping her alive.”
“I can try. It should be easier now that he’s no longer here to influence the lords.”
“Do what you can. As for the ball, would your mother see to things here?”
Catrina wove her way through the crowd toward them. Her too bright smile flashed, a sure sign she wanted something.
He ran a hand through the hair at his brow. Not now. Whatever she wanted he couldn’t give her, and he didn’t have time to deal with her tantrums.
“Are you leaving?” Catrina moved closer, taking his arm. “You can’t depart when your home is filled with guests. What would people think?”
�
�Lady Lochsdale is missing,” Bradford said. “Lord Addington has her, and we believe he’s going to force her to marry him.”
Refusing to look at her, he shook off Catrina’s hand and started to leave. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Lord Worthington, wait.” Catrina took his arm again. Her voice carried a note of desperation. “Maybe it’s for the best. You wanted to marry her off. Lord Addington would make a fine husband.”
He turned and glared at her. “I’m not letting Addington have her. She’s mine. Do you understand?”
Catrina released his arm and stepped back as if she’d been struck. “Why? You couldn’t be in love with her.” Bitterness edged her words. “Lord Worthington doesn’t know how to love.”
Declan couldn’t keep the contempt from his voice. “Maybe I never had the right teacher.” He turned away. Had he actually considered tying himself to this woman?
“I’ll not let you marry her.” Catrina’s high-pitched voice could be heard above the music. “The letter warned you not to follow. Go ahead. Try. You won’t catch them.” Her last comment came out in a strained whisper. “Then you’ll have to come back to me.”
He froze, then turned slowly to face her. “How did you know I’d received a letter?”
Confusion marred Catrina’s flawless features. “You must have mentioned it. I mean...well...how else would you know Lord Addington was responsible?”
Barely able to contain his fury, he moved very close to the flustered woman, leaned down, and whispered in her ear, “I want you to tell me everything you know. Now. If you don’t, I shall see to it you are ruined in Society.”
Catrina’s face turned whiter than her gown. “You wouldn’t.”
“You should never underestimate what a person will do for love.” He took her upper arm in a firm grip. “Spreading a few rumors won’t be difficult. And coming from me, they’d be believed. You’d be lucky to marry a baronet. Are you willing to take that chance?”
