The Missing Marquess of Althorn (The Lost Lords Book 3)

by Chasity Bowlin

  “Please, Mama?”

  Her heart melted, as it always did. He was so sweet and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t find comfort in the weight of his little body snuggled against her own. Benedict was the only child she would ever have. His delivery had been a difficult one and she’d been told that more children would be impossible. James had raged against her, claiming she’d done it on purpose. Even the doctor, a long acquaintance of her husband, had been mortified.

  Sarah looked down at her son and thought of another purely selfish reason to let him come with her to her bed. If he was sleeping beside her, no matter how drunk and ill-tempered James was upon returning home, he’d not disturb her or the boy. She’d avoided his advances on many a night by allowing her poor, dear child to be her shield. It wasn’t something she was proud of.

  James was out with his mistress, but that meant nothing. He might still come home determined to prove the doctor wrong, to prove that he was virile enough to get her with child regardless of what all the best medical professionals had told them.

  “Very well,” she agreed. “You may come with me and you may sleep in my room tonight, but only because I’ll be lonely for you if you’re not there. Not because there are any beasties!”

  The smile that spread across his delighted face warmed her to her toes. She’d never thought it possible to love as strongly or as fiercely as she loved her child. Lifting his little body into her arms, she carried him much as she had when he was an infant. It was highly unfashionable for a woman of her standing to be so involved with the day to day care of her child. The standard, of course, was for the child to be turned over to nurses and nannies and for the mother to continue all the same amusements that had comprised her life before marriage and children. But she had no interest in balls or musicales. She had no interest in going about in society and pretending to be happy when married to a monster. Her happiness was found in moments like the present, with the weight of her sweet son resting against her, his head tucked beneath her chin.

  As she traversed the corridor, a feeling came upon her. It was one of dread and fear, and one that she typically associated with the presence of her husband. But it was only past ten and she knew that he would not be home till the wee hours of the morning. Continuing on, her slippered feet moved silently over the rug that blanketed the parquet floor. Yet the feeling remained.

  “Mama, I don’t feel good,” the boy complained.

  “Benedict, I need you to be very quiet,” she said softly. The certainty that they were not alone in the hall had hit her forcefully. While her eyes could not penetrate the darkness, while there appeared to be no visible proof that they were not alone, she would not be foolish enough to ignore the feeling and place them both at risk.

  Had he hired someone to kill her? It would not have surprised her. She was more surprised that he’d waited so long. A wife that could not produce children was not worth having. But annulling their marriage was not a possibility, not without rendering the heir he did have illegitimate. Stepping back, she retreated slowly toward Benedict’s room. If she could get inside it, she could duck through the adjoining nurse’s room and get to the servants’ stairs.

  Before her hand closed over the knob, a great hulking shape emerged from the shadows. She screamed and Benedict followed suit. The man, for surely even gigantic as it was, it could be nothing else, clapped her on the head, sending her hurtling to the floor. Dazed as she was from the blow, she could see Benedict lashing out at him, kicking and wailing. The man closed his hand over her son’s mouth, his big hand covering almost the entirety of the boy’s face.

  “Go quiet like an’ I won’t ’ave to ’urt ’im.”

  She labored to decipher the cockney accent, but nodded just the same. She’d agree to anything to see Benedict spared.

  “Get up and go to your room,” the man directed.

  Sarah did as she’d been bid, struggling to her feet. Dizziness swamped her and she had to place her hand against the wall to remain upright as she followed his directive. She glanced back at Benedict who was wide eyed, kicking and struggling in the large man’s hold. He would injure himself or, perhaps far worse, anger his captor. In the hopes of appeasing him and sparing Benedict the man’s temper, Sarah rushed to comply with his edict. Once at her chamber door, she opened it and stepped inside. Another man awaited them within.

  “Bloody hell! You weren’t supposed to be here!” he hissed. “You were supposed to be out with your husband.”

  “Who would have you told you such a thing?” she asked. “I never attend balls, and most certainly not with my husband.”

  “Seems I was misinformed,” he answered, before turning his gaze to his larger companion. “For pity’s sake, you’re suffocating the boy!”

  The large man immediately removed his hand and Benedict gasped and coughed. Terrified, Sarah turned to him and took him from the large man, holding him close to her. The man had let him go without a protest. For the moment, she didn’t feel they were in immediate danger. Even the man’s rough treatment of Benedict seemed to be incidental to his size and not intended to do harm. Deciding to face the matter boldly, she offered, “If your intent is robbery then, by all means, take whatever you want. I will not stop you and I will not raise the alarm. So long as my son remains unharmed, you may do as you please. But touch him again and I will scream down the entire house.”

  “We’re not here to harm anyone,” the more well-spoken of the two said. “By all rights, you should have been out and the boy should have been abed. We’re only here to take what’s owed us.”

  “Then be done with it,” she snapped.

  “It’ll be much faster with your help,” he said. “The sooner we’re out, the sooner you can feel safe again.” The last was said with a sneer, like he was aware of something she was not.

  With Benedict still in her arms, clinging to her tightly with his tear-stained cheek pressed to her shoulder, Sarah walked to her dressing room, opened the secret panel in the wall and revealed her jewelry collection. “Take whatever you want and then leave.”

  “We’ll take a few, just to tide us over,” the man said, reaching in and indiscriminately grabbing several pieces which he then shoved into his pockets. “But we’re looking for the book.”

  “What book?” she shot back.

  “The one your husband said was hidden in this house!” he snapped. “Don’t play stupid with me! Where else would he hide it but in this chamber?”

  She laughed bitterly. “My husband never enters this chamber. I cannot tell you where he hid it!”

  “He said it would be here!” the man snapped at her.

  His tone was sharp, snappish, and yet there was fear buried within it. She knew what fear was. Her husband had done his best to acquaint her with it from the day of their wedding forward. To the burglar, she said, “Then he lied. If you are acquainted with my husband at all then surely that cannot be a surprise.”

  “That book was promised to someone… and if we don’t deliver, it’ll go badly for us all. Very badly, indeed. That includes you and your husband. If you’ve any inkling where it might be,” Fenton said softly, “then you need to tell us now.”

  “I know nothing of the book you speak of. My husband rarely visits my chambers and I rarely leave them,” she insisted. “We may be wed but, in truth, we live very separate lives. If he told you it was here, then you, like so many, have been misled by him.”

  He looked at her, his gaze raking over her figure. “I find that difficult to believe.”

  Sarah blushed. “The birth of my son was difficult. I can bear him no more children, thus I no longer serve a purpose for him. Perhaps this book you speak of is hidden in his mistress’ rooms instead of mine. You should look there, though given the vast number of them, it could take you the better part of the night.”

  *

  Fenton eyed the viscountess coolly. There was something about her that sparked his pity and, yet, he tamped it down. A man in his posit
ion could not afford any emotion so soft as pity. It would only be his downfall. “If I understand correctly, then you are of no value to him?” When she remained silent, he snapped, reached out and grabbed her arm, twisting it painfully until she cried out and sank to her knees, still holding the boy tightly to her. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he would if it came to it. Whatever sadness might lurk in her pretty eyes, it was her life or his. “Answer me!”

  “No,” she replied softly. “I hold no value for my husband!”

  “But the boy does,” he mused. “He’s the heir after all.”

  “No! No!” she shouted. “I won’t let you do anything to him!”

  “Subdue her,” Fenton snapped at Henry as he shoved her away and grabbed up the crying child.

  She fought like a demon. Kicking, clawing, scratching. There were moments when, as Fenton watched, the small, struggling child in his arms, he thought she might very well best Henry. At one point, she did escape the larger man and dragged herself over to him. She clawed at him as he made his way toward the door, ripping at his clothes and very nearly pulling the child from his arms. Whatever else could be said for Lord Vale, when he’d chosen the mother of his child, he’d chosen well. Her devotion to her son was surely without equal. But devoted or not, Henry was a beast of a man, large and strong. He claimed her once more, picking her up easily and carting her back toward the bed. When attempts to simply hold her failed, the giant of a man cuffed her ear and sent her sprawling to the floor. Before her head could have even stopped spinning, she was back on her feet.

  “Bind her. Use the ties from the bed curtains and get her under control,” Fenton hissed. “We haven’t time for this nonsense!” She shrieked again like a banshee. Even with the commotion of the servants celebrating below stairs, it was unlikely that such commotion would go unnoticed for long. Removing his neckcloth, a garment curiously fine for the rest of his tattered clothing, Fenton approached her and shoved it into her mouth. He tugged at the sash of her wrapper until it came free and tossed it at Henry. “Use that to finish gagging her. Now, Lady Vale—Sarah, I’ll promise you this, so long as you cooperate, and so long as your husband sees the book delivered into our hands, no harm will fall on this boy. It’s not my wish to harm women and children, but my life is on the line, and I’ll not sacrifice it for the lot of you. Do you hear me?”

  She nodded, her face pale in the moonlight and her wide eyes brimming with tears, as Henry finished securing her hands. “Don’t like this none,” Henry groused. “Don’t seem right, it don’t! I don’t ’old wiv’ roughin’ up women and babes!”

  “Shut up. Get Al—get your partner and let’s be gone before we’re discovered,” Fenton said, barely catching his slip in time. He looked back at Lady Sarah, Viscountess Vale. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. You do not deserve any of this, but your husband is at fault, madame. We are but the instruments of the downfall he has wrought.” To the boy, he whispered, “If you’re not quiet, if you let out a single peep as we leave this house, I will come back here and I will do far worse than just tie your pretty mother up? Nod if you understand me, boy!”

  The little boy’s soft curls bobbed as he stared up at Fenton and nodded his head. Lady Vale turned her face away, weeping silently. Fenton continued, “We’re going on an adventure. You keep quiet, your mother remains unharmed and you’ll have lots to tell her when you return home. Yes?” The boy nodded again and Fenton gave one last look at the slumped and shaking shoulders of the viscountess sobbing in the darkness as he slipped from her chambers and into the shadow-shrouded hall.

  He didn’t notice the absence of his pocket watch, that it lay on the carpet of the chamber he’d just exited, engraved with his damning initials.

  Chapter One

  Bath, 1820

  Elizabeth Masters exited the shop on Pulteney Bridge and smiled. It had been a frivolous purchase, a length of ribbon that she would never dare to wear in public. The lovely emerald hue was far too eye-catching for someone who did everything in her power to blend with the wallpaper. She had reason enough to want to vanish, she reflected bitterly. A woman in service could not afford to draw too much attention to herself but, beyond that, it was imperative for her position that no one recognize her from her previous life. Being a companion required being respectable above all things. And as her past forays into society had marked her as rather fast and imprudent, she had created as much separation from those days as possible.

  Moving to Bath, as different from her bucolic upbringing in Hertfordshire as one could imagine, and leaving the all too brief acquaintance of the glittering gaiety of London behind, she’d set out to be very different from how she’d begun. Once she’d seen how tarnished and ugly London and its society truly were, it had allowed her to see herself in a new light and to make the changes necessary to become a better person.

  Parties, balls, and endless frivolity had masked a deeper unhappiness inside her, a need for approval and attention that had left her easy prey to certain unscrupulous men. It had been a hard lesson learned, but she was the better for it. If her newfound life of piety and hard work did not bring joy, it was because she still needed to attend to the flaws in her own character, she reasoned. She was still allowing frivolous things to hold too much importance in her life. Even with that assessment ringing in her head, she continued to clutch the paper-wrapped length of ribbons as tightly as a child with a prize.

  Stepping off the bridge, she crossed toward St. Michael’s Abbey and the nearby Pump Room. Lady Vale had excused her during her daily appointment to take the waters and Elizabeth had been unable to resist the length of green satin that had been calling her name for days. Every time she’d passed the shop window, she’d stared longingly at it. Now it was hers, to be hidden away in a drawer or pinned to some of her underthings as her own little secret vanity.

  A feeling of unease stole over her and she glanced over her shoulder to see a large man leaning against a stone railing that overlooked the weir. He was roughly dressed, which was unusual as they were in a more fashionable part of town. Since he leaned nonchalantly there, he clearly was not a workman or in the employ of someone. He appeared to be quite at his leisure. He also appeared to be intently watching her. Immediately on guard, Elizabeth didn’t dare take her eyes off him.

  Still looking over her shoulder, she was caught unawares when she walked directly into another person. Elizabeth stumbled, dropped her paper-wrapped package and her reticule and nearly fell on her bottom. She would have, had a pair of strong hands not grasped her upper arms and steadied her.

  “Oh, dear heavens! How terribly clumsy I’ve been,” she muttered apologetically.

  The man had stooped to retrieve her things as well as his hat which she’d sent flying. Only the top of his golden head was visible to her, but she heard the smile in his voice, as he spoke, “There is no need to apologize. You appeared to be quite deep in troubling thoughts.”

  “Not so troubling really,” she denied. “Nonetheless, I do apologize, sir. I have quite made a cake of myself.”

  He rose then, hat in one hand, her reticule and packaged ribbon in the other. Hand extended, he offered her items back to her, but it took Elizabeth a moment to quite make sense of what was happening.

  The stranger she had inadvertently accosted wasn’t simply a handsome man. He was, in fact, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Every feature was chiseled, patrician perfection. And when he smiled at her, her heart thundered violently in her chest. It appeared all the work she’d done to distance herself from the shallow and vain creature she’d once been had been undone with a single glance at what surely was a model for Adonis.

  “Forgive me, sir,” she finally managed. “I don’t mean to stare but you seem quite familiar to me.” It wasn’t untrue. There was something familiar in his face, but it wasn’t that which had prompted her to stare. Rather the sense of familiarity had been borne of the fact that she could not drag her gaze away from him in all his golden perfection.<
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  He laughed then. “I don’t think we’ve met. We hardly run in the same circles, now do we?”

  She blushed, humiliation burning inside her at the gentle rebuttal. Based on his clothing and deportment, it was obvious he was a gentleman. Given her drab attire, there was no mistaking that they were not of the same class. But that was what she had striven for, was it not? To disappear into the drudgery of a not-quite-a-servant’s life that was, to her, her lot forevermore.

  Finding her voice, she replied as coolly as she dared, “Certainly, you are correct, sir. Thank you and good day.”

  He frowned. “I’ve insulted you and I assure you it was purely by accident… I don’t mean to imply that I move in exalted circles, miss. Quite the opposite. I only look like a gentleman. I am not one. And regardless of your current employment, I daresay you are always a lady. Good day to you.”

  Elizabeth watched him walk away and wondered what sort of man would dress so finely, speak so eloquently and display such pristine manners while referring to himself as not a gentleman. He was puzzling to be certain, but handsome puzzles that piqued her curiosity and her attraction were a recipe for disaster. She could not afford to be intrigued by him. She could not afford to do anything that would sway her from her current bleak but proper course.

  Looking over her shoulder once more, she saw that the large workman was gone. “I am letting my foolish imagination get the better of me,” she muttered and turned to make her way toward the baths. It had been a curious day to say the least. Given the appointment she had arranged for Lady Vale for later that evening, it was only destined to grow stranger by the hour.

  *

  Benedict watched the woman from a secluded doorway. Concealed in the shadows, he watched the large man lumber away, taking a set of stairs that would lead down to the river. It had been the rough-looking man who’d first caught his attention. The ruffian matched the description he’d been given by the porter of the man he’d seen following Mary only a week earlier. In the square, surrounded by fashionably dressed ladies out to shop, pay calls and take the waters, he’d stood out like the proverbial sore thumb with his rough clothes and rougher appearance.