“Take your lumps like a bloo’y man,” shouted another. “No one is comin’ for ya, can’t ye see, ya blockhead?”
Disheartened, weary and hungry despite the slop they’d provided him for the day, Ben collapsed on the floor near the wall. A rat shrieked out of his way, scurrying toward the shelter of his bed. He didn’t care if he flattened the little vermin. Every day, it lay in wait, ready to snatch his food when he wasn’t looking.
Sweat ran down his brow, mingling with silent tears he refused to acknowledge.
He’d been drugged. There was no other explanation for it.
He tried to recall. Who had attended the game?
The usual cast and crew, Lord Huntington included. Huntington had introduced him to the bunch, warning him that he would be no match for their practiced skills. Huntington himself had lost his money early on and had departed the game to save what was left of his pride and his pocket. Ben had remained because he was winning. He pulled his hair, trying to remember, as though the effort would extract some clue from his fogged brain.
How long had he been confined here now?
Days? Weeks? Months?
He had won, blast it all! He’d won!
Who put him here?
Who?
He smacked his head in frustration, trying to remember.
Claire must be beside herself with worry by now. She likely thought him dead. He’d wanted only to set them both free of their debts. Instead, look what he’d done. He’d made a bloody mess of everything.
The last thing he remembered about that night was taking a victory shot of rotgut whiskey. The next thing he remembered was waking in debtor’s prison. No chance to pay back funds, no holding cell, nothing. Just darkness and stink and slop for dinner.
But he had won. Why should he be here at all?
He heard footsteps approaching down the hall, but didn’t bother to crawl into his flea-infested bed. Instead, he curled into a ball and buried his head in his arms. Let them harangue him for keeping the other prisoners awake. Let them bring him before someone—anyone who could give him bloody answers.
The footsteps halted at his cell. “Highbury?”
Ben didn’t answer. Let them come in after him so he could plant his fist against some bugger’s windpipe.
“You have a visitor,” the guard announced, and walked away.
Ben raised his head, squinting to see through the filthy darkness. His lids were heavy with exhaustion.
“Tsk-tsk. What a bloody mess you seem to be in,” a familiar voice remarked.
Recognizing the voice, Ben bounded to his feet and ran to the cell door. “Thank God, man!” he exclaimed. “Huntington! I thought I’d rot here with no one the wiser!”
“That’s entirely possible.”
Ben’s brows drew together in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why am I here?”
“You lost your arse in a card game.”
Ben shook his head. “But I didn’t—I won. I won!”
Huntington’s expression was smug. “That rather depends on how you look at it, doesn’t it?”
Ben swallowed the knot that tightened in his throat. “I don’t understand.”
Huntington tapped the cell bars. “Well, you’re in gaol,” he said, pointing out the obvious.
“But you don’t understand. There was no formal accusal. I wasn’t given the opportunity to pay anything back. I don’t owe anything! I simply awoke on a bed of filth, surrounded by men who’d rather foul their trousers than stir the feathers.”
Huntington peered into the cell. “You have feathers in there?”
“What the hell do you think?”
“What a relief! One would wonder about the justice system if they provided such plush accommodations to common thieves and debtors. At any rate, I’m certain that, in time, you’ll come to feel the same as the rest of these chaps. It’s always best not to rouse the dust, lest one find himself eating it.”
Ben stepped away from the cell door, appalled. “So, you didn’t come to free me?”
Huntington shrugged. “That depends on you,” he answered in a voice a little too self-satisfied for Ben’s liking.
Understanding came to Ben in a flash. “You put me here.”
Huntington was silent, neither denying nor confessing to the charge.
Ben seized the bars, enraged. “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”
“Come now, let us not jump to hasty conclusions. I came to offer you a bargain, Ben.”
Ben clenched his teeth. “What sort of bargain?” he asked, enunciating every word.
“I believe I know someone who might be persuaded to release you, if you’ll agree to a simple exchange.”
“Exchange?”
“Did you know that Claire is to be wed soon?” Huntington asked.
“What the devil you are talking about?”
“She had to raise the funds for your ransom somehow, Ben. Unfortunately, my little plan backfired. She didn’t appreciate my offer and went elsewhere. But it doesn’t matter. What I want is for you to put an end to the wedding and to convince your stubborn sister to be with me instead.”
“You can’t marry Claire,” Ben argued, confused. “Have you forgotten you’re already married, Huntington? I think your wife might take exception to you installing another woman in her bed.”
“Lady Huntington is of no consequence. We keep separate residences and, I assure you, my wife could care less who I install in my bed. Anyway, you mistake my meaning,” Huntington clarified. “I don’t intend to marry Claire. I just want her available whenever I wish.”
“You’ve got maggots in your head!” Ben suggested, disbelieving his ears. He and Claire had viewed Huntington in much the same light as they had their father. The man had stood by their side and comforted the both of them while they buried the late earl.
“Claire would never agree to such an arrangement,” he assured Huntington. “My sister has far more sense than that. She’s not a Haymarket ware!”
“Humph! You could have fooled me. You should see the way she clings to that cocksure fiancé of hers. He rams his tongue down her throat every opportunity he gets and Claire simply allows it. She’s nothing more than a trollop.”
“You’re a bloody bastard!” Ben told him with conviction. “You can go straight to hell. I won’t help you.”
“Then you’ll rot here, after all. Guard!” Huntington called without hesitation. “I’m ready to go now.”
The door at the end of the corridor opened, letting in the only light Ben had seen in days. Huntington strode toward it.
Ben shouted, cursing him, trying to convince the guard while he had the man’s ear that he didn’t belong in this place, but the guard simply cackled and slammed the door behind Huntington, casting him once again into filthy darkness.
Claire hadn’t thought His Majesty would gather the funds quite so swiftly, but it was obvious he wanted her out of his home.
She had no choice but to comply.
No matter what she and Merrick had shared last night, circumstances remained the same. His father didn’t approve of her, and Merrick had merely been using her to gain more time.
At least he’d never lied to her.
And now, the sham was over—not on Merrick’s terms, but on his father’s.
Well, it didn’t matter. She had the means to free her brother, and she was going to do just that. That she’d lost a piece of herself in the process was simply a consequence of their circumstances.
She stared down at the ring on her finger, admiring it. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t intended for her. Someday, another woman would wear it. That woman would bear Merrick’s children and share his bed. And Claire would hear about their visits to London and read about their royal affairs in the paper. And she would become a faded memory. People would point to her and whisper about her tattered fairy tale. And she would remember sweet, wicked kisses and a shimmering night when everything had seemed a perfect dream.
Well,
she was wide awake now, and there was no point in avoiding the inevitable.
Ryosan had already gathered her belongings and taken them to the carriage. She inspected the room one last time, spying the small, lifeless moth on the nightstand.
Poor creature.
Tears pricked at her lids as she lifted up the delicate gift. Opening her reticule, she placed it inside, determining that it would not die in vain. She would cherish it always, along with the memories it would engender.
Resolved, she went to Merrick’s room to leave him the ring. She placed it in a small velvet pouch and set it down on the perfectly made bed. Beside it, she placed the note she’d written. It read simply, “It’s over. I’ll tend to my own affairs from here on out. Thank you for everything, but please do not seek me out.”
And then she lifted her chin, straightened her spine, turned her back and walked away.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I believe I’ve pinned our man down,” Cameron said when Ian sauntered into his office. “He’s a nighttime guard at Fleet. His buddies tell me he’s been known to take a bribe now and again.”
Ian contemplated the new information. “Is it possible he could have smuggled Ben inside?”
“Anything is possible,” Cameron replied. “And it would explain why no one has seen Ben, and why every trail leads to a bloody dead end. Inside those prison walls, I doubt anyone looks at anyone’s face. And you can’t bribe or browbeat a man to talk about what he doesn’t see.”
“At this point, what are the possibilities?”
Cameron lifted both brows. “That he’s already dead, of course.”
Ian winced. Claire would be devastated.
“But that’s not what my gut says,” Cameron added at once. “I really don’t think they would continue to ransom a dead man.”
“They might,” Ian argued. “If they were greedy enough.”
Cameron shook his head. “Let’s think about this. If he’s alive, Fleet Prison would make perfect sense, considering Ben’s activities of late. I hear tell of gooneys being posted at the more serious games to discourage nonpayment. What if that’s what’s happened here? What if Ben lost a fortune to someone with connections and they used the opportunity to extract that debt from his family? Fleet would be the perfect place to imprison him. When and if the poor bugger is released, he can’t very well point his finger at anyone, now can he? He was in debtor’s prison, after all, not locked away in someone’s attic. Chances are he’ll want to keep it mum.”
“So, if he’s there, how do we find out?”
Cameron winked at him. “Getting in is never the trouble,” he said. “It’s getting out that usually poses a problem. I know someone and it should be simple enough to find out. And if he’s in there, we’ll have him out by nightfall.”
“And if he’s not?”
Cameron shrugged. “Then we haven’t any more leads aside from that bastard prison guard, and we’ll be shoving a barking iron up his arse when he leaves his post at daybreak. Either way, we’ll be getting the answers we’re looking for soon.”
Claire wasn’t bacon-brained enough to carry the money on her person. Once she was certain she was dealing with the right person—and only then—she would hand over the banknotes. To that end, her only lead was the house on George Street where she’d last spied Ben before he’d disappeared. She was halfway there before she realized she was being followed.
This man, however, wasn’t the same one who had attacked her in her home. This man was at least a head taller and much leaner, and appeared to be older. He also wasn’t nearly as adept at concealing himself as her attacker had been. She’d first noticed him outside Merrick’s home. He’d stood across the street, watching while Ryo packed the carriage.
When the man quickened his pace, she ducked into a dress shop whose doors were about to close.
“Just a moment, please!” she begged the plump female face behind the closing door.
“Oh, my!” the shopkeeper exclaimed, obviously startled. “I was just about to close.”
“Please,” Claire persisted.
The woman smiled suddenly. “I know you! Come in! Do come in!” she insisted and dragged Claire into her shop by the hand. “At least I feel as though I know you.”
“You do?” Confused, and a little unnerved, Claire peered back at the door left ajar.
“I used to sew for Lady Huntington,” the woman explained. “What a wonderful surprise to see you, my dear. Tell me, have you come to purchase your wedding gown?”
The question took Claire by surprise. She shook her head.
The good-natured woman tilted her head in obvious disappointment, but said, “Oh, I do understand! It’s a grand occasion and I’m certain you’ll be going to someplace more elegant, like Courtauld’s. Still, you must allow me to measure you for a day dress.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Claire assured the woman. “I only wanted to come in and rest a moment.”
“But I insist!” the woman said, clapping her hands in glee. “It would be my wedding gift to you. Everyone has been following your story in the paper. I must say, it couldn’t have happened to a sweeter girl. And don’t you listen to a thing those nincompoops say!”
Despite the queerness of the situation, Claire couldn’t suppress a smile. She didn’t have the heart to tell the woman the truth. Anyway, just for the moment, while she waited for her pursuer to leave, it felt good to pretend that there might be a wedding after all. “Very well,” she relented. “But I must insist on paying.”
“Poppycock!” the woman declared. “I can certainly afford a few yards of cloth for a woman of inspiration!”
Claire laughed. She refrained from pointing out that getting married was hardly a grand accomplishment.
“It’s about time you stopped wearing mourning,” the seamstress said. “It’s time to celebrate! Pink or violet?”
“Neither,” Claire replied, peering back at the door, grateful for the safe haven. “Have you something nice in green perhaps?”
“Of course!” the woman said, heading toward her back room. “Come and choose your favorite!”
Claire hurried to the door, closing it. And just for good measure, she locked it, then hurried after the seamstress, peering back over her shoulder at the window.
Clearly, the daytime guard was uneasy about their arrival, but he didn’t protest as his superior commanded him to unlock the cell-block door.
The corridor revealed to them was long and dark. The guard entered first, leading the way, lantern in hand. Cameron and Ian followed.
He stopped at the first cell, where a man sat on the dirt floor chewing his toenails. He was an older chap with matted gray hair. “Not him,” Ian said with certainty and they moved on to the next cell and the next.
Halfway down the block, they came to a man who lay sleeping on a dirty pallet. His dark hair was matted and his face was black with grime, but his profile bore an uncanny resemblance to Claire.
“This the man?” the guard asked.
“Ben?” Ian called out.
The man on the cot opened his eyes and turned his head to view them. “Tell Huntington I said to go hump a camel. My answer is still no,” he said with malice.
“Huntington is behind this?” Cameron asked, raising his brows.
The prisoner sat up. “Don’t you know who the hell butters your bread?”
“Open the door,” Cameron commanded the guard. “This is the man we’re looking for.”
The guard complied, casting wary glances over his shoulder at Cameron. In his cell, Ben stood and came forward from the shadows.
“Let me introduce myself,” Ian offered, stepping into the cell once the door opened.
Ben had the same stark green eyes as his sister. Ian and Cameron exchanged glances of relief.
“I’m Ian MacEwen,” he said, “Your sister’s…fiancé.”
Ben’s expression twisted. “I’ll be damned!” he exclaimed, scratching his filthy chin and t
hen flashing perfect teeth. “Then it’s true?”
“Well, man, are you just going to stand there gossiping?” Cameron asked him. “Or do you want to get the hell out of here?”
“Get the hell out, of course!” Ben replied without hesitation and brushed past them toward the door, scratching his matted head. “I’m one hungry, dirty bastard,” he declared, chortling.
Ian stood back and let the man pass. “Pew!” he said, getting an unexpected whiff. He waved a hand under his nose as he met Cameron’s gaze and laughed. “I’ll vouch for that, lad. You need a bloody soak.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
After leaving the dress shop, Claire hailed a hansom and returned to Grosvenor Square.
Though her pursuer seemed to have fled, she’d completely lost her nerve and hoped Lord Huntington might agree to accompany her to the house on George Street.
A woman must do what a woman must do—humph! Claire couldn’t believe she had once said that. She felt like a complete ninny.
She would have gone to Cameron, instead, but didn’t dare face Merrick. She suspected the two had become fast friends, and she just couldn’t bear to see him again.
The only thing keeping her strong was the knowledge that Ben needed her. Otherwise, she was afraid she would melt into one giant puddle of tears. Her heart was thoroughly broken. And how she’d managed to get it that way was beyond her, because she’d thought she was keeping herself well guarded.
Obviously, she hadn’t guarded herself well enough.
But she refused to feel one ounce of guilt over last night. It had been the most incredible night of her life. Let the consequences fall where they may. And if the bittersweet memory haunted her the rest of her days, then it was a price she was willing to pay.
Still, once she freed Ben, she planned to escape to the country until Merrick and his party left London. And she vowed never to read the paper again. She didn’t want to hear news of him, didn’t want to know when he visited London or when he chose his new bride. The mere thought of him wedding someone else made her stomach turn.
The Impostor Prince Page 18
