The Missing Heir

by Ranstrom, Gail

  Lord Geoffrey laughed. “Would you like some hints?”

  Adam pushed the curtain aside and took in the intimate little scene. Grace was sitting, practically knee-to-knee with Morgan on a velvet banquette, a small table in front of them. The sight gave him an unpleasant feeling, on top of all the other unpleasant feelings he’d had today. Was her gambling so out of control that she would lose everything before stopping?

  Morgan stood. “Hawthorne. Good to see you. Mrs. Forbush said you had tired of escorting her.”

  The day had been an exercise in aggravation, from Taylor’s death to his confrontation with Barrington a moment ago. And it just kept getting worse. “Sorry to disappoint you, Morgan, but I managed to make it after all.” Tense and angry, he glanced down at Grace. “Would you like some hints on what I’m thinking, Mrs. Forbush?”

  The line of her jaw tightened but her lips curved up in a polite social smile. “I do not think that will be necessary, Mr. Hawthorne.” She stood and inclined her head to Morgan. “Thank you for a pleasant evening, Lord Geoffrey. Perhaps I shall see you tomorrow.”

  She took his arm and looked sideways up at him as they walked toward the foyer. “What was that, Mr. Hawthorne? A flexing of muscles?”

  “Do not tweak me while we are public, Mrs. Forbush, because it would take precious little for me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here if necessary.”

  He retrieved her wrap and ushered her out the door. Rather than stand like targets on the street, he led her around the corner to where the private coaches waited. Mr. Dewberry saw them coming and disengaged himself from a group of coachmen and hurried to open the door.

  “So y’ caught up to us, did ye, Mr. Hawthorne? Where do we go next?”

  “Bloomsbury Square,” Adam said with a warning glance at Grace. He still didn’t think of the place as home.

  “Aye, sir.” Dewberry handed Grace into the coach and then took his place in the driver’s box as Adam swung up into the coach and closed the door.

  When the coach lurched into motion and entered the stream of traffic on the thoroughfare, Adam broke the silence. “Are you mad, Grace? What were you thinking to come out alone?”

  “I could not wait for you. Or chance that…that we would not go out again tonight.”

  “Are you so desperate to gamble that you would risk your life?”

  “My life? Come now, sir. The consequences are hardly as calamitous as that.”

  “They are every bit of that. How many unexplained accidents have you had of late? How many close calls?”

  Grace fell silent and stared into the darkness of the coach. “Are you saying that you think someone is trying to kill me?”

  Adam ran his fingers though his hair in frustration. He was now fairly certain that Grace’s unexplained accidents had been meant as a warning to him. If anything happened to her, it would be because of his inquires into the attack in Canada. He could not stop the inquiry, but he would have to find some way to keep Grace safe. He doubted he could live with himself if anything happened to her.

  He turned to look at her in the dim light afforded by the streetlamps they passed. He could not be with her every minute of the day to protect her. He had to make her understand the danger she was in. “The odds for so many accidents being coincidental are nearly astronomical.”

  She frowned and looked down at her lap. After a moment she asked, “What happened to you, Adam? I was worried when I did not hear from you.”

  “You were…” This was the first time he could recall anyone worrying about him. The knowledge filled him with guilt and warmth at the same time. “I am not used to someone worrying or waiting for me, Grace. I had business that took longer than I expected. If it happens again I will send you word.”

  “What business?”

  He didn’t want Grace to know he was bent on vengeance. If she knew about the blood already on his hands, she would cut him out of her life without so much as a blink of those sultry eyes. “Government matters that wouldn’t interest you,” he hedged, wincing at how patronizing he’d sounded. A quick glance at Grace told him she had not missed the slight.

  “Wrapping up details from my assignment in Canada,” he explained further. “It is…complicated. It should not take much longer.”

  She nodded, a little of the stiffness draining from her shoulders.

  “As long as we are explaining ourselves, Grace, what is behind your gambling? I don’t believe excitement is the sole reason. You are too disciplined a person to allow that to take over.”

  She turned away and gazed out the window at the passing streets. “I am growing bored with it. Perhaps I shall stop soon.”

  “When? When you’ve lost everything you have?”

  “If that’s what it takes,” she murmured.

  That comment was cryptic, even from Grace who was prone to puzzling remarks. “What do you mean?”

  She turned back to him and smiled. “It should not take much longer.”

  By the time he realized she had given him back his own words, Mr. Dewberry was helping her down from the coach.

  Dianthe appeared at the door, still in a coaching dress and bonnet. “Here you are!” she exclaimed. “I cannot wait to tell you of my adventures in St. Albans!”

  He noted Grace’s obvious relief and suppressed his own disappointment that there’d be no repeat of last night. They would have to finish their conversation tomorrow.

  Grace exited Madame Marie’s shop with her head down and her thoughts in a muddle. The meeting with Mr. Renquist had not gone as well as she would have liked. More questions tumbled through her mind than had been answered.

  It would seem that Lord Geoffrey Morgan had not hired the runner who was making inquiries about Grace. And that runner was not the only one following her. What had she done to become the object of so much clandestine attention?

  Mr. Renquist reported that a top runner by the name of Fredrick Carter had been making inquiries about her. Inquiries of a general nature—her reputation, her interests, her friends and family. Another, whose name was Langston, worked outside of Bow Street and was more interested in her comings and goings—who she saw, where she went, what she did. Langston was known to be a bit “heavy-handed,” and there was speculation that he was not above doing an employer’s dirty work. Mr. Renquist had been yet unable to ascertain who had employed them, but he was narrowing in on the information. But Grace was certain she knew one of those answers. Langston was a name she had heard Barrington use before.

  A hand seized her arm and she whirled to face the person who had stopped her. She recognized him with a sinking feeling. “Barrington,” she said. That confirmed one of the questions.

  “Come for a ride with me, Grace. We need to talk without interruptions.”

  She glanced at the Barrington coach, following them at close quarters. Every instinct she possessed screamed that she should not put herself in Barrington’s hands, or allow him to manipulate her into a position she could not defend. “No.”

  “I need to explain some things to you, Grace. I would not want anything…bad to happen to you.”

  A bluff was her best course. “I know you hired a runner to follow me, Lord Barrington. Why? What did you hope to gain?”

  Barrington’s complexion darkened considerably. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Did you order the attacks, too?”

  “Attacks? What are you…you’ve been attacked?”

  “Several times.”

  “By God, I swear ’twasn’t me! I don’t want you hurt, Grace. That’s why I’m here. To recall you to your senses before you make the biggest mistake of your life.”

  How like a man to think rejecting him is a colossal mistake. She pulled her arm away from him and straightened her sleeve. “I am not going anywhere with you, Lord Barrington. And you have one minute to convince me that you were not behind the attacks on me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, Grace. You know I’d never hurt you.”
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br />   She raised her eyebrow and tilted her chin. “I have experience to the contrary.”

  “But not like that,” he protested as she turned and started walking again. “I am trying to protect you—to keep you safe.”

  “Explain.”

  “It’s Hawthorne. When he came back, it threw everything awry. We had to scramble.”

  “We?”

  He seemed disconcerted that he’d said too much. “Never mind that, Grace.” He seized her arm again and pulled her toward his coach.

  “In two seconds I am going to begin screaming,” she said in a low, deadly voice. “And I shall continue screaming until someone arrives to help me. Do you really want to be seen dragging a woman into your coach? Your coat of arms clearly tells witnesses who you are.”

  Whatever civility Barrington had pretended slipped away and his face twisted into a snarl. “I tried to help. You cannot say you were not warned. I’ll remember this, Grace.”

  She did not begin to shake until his coach pulled away and disappeared around a corner. She had made a mistake by not having Mr. Dewberry drive her. She would count herself lucky today and be more careful in the future.

  “There’s a gentleman downstairs, Mrs. Forbush. I’ve put him in the parlor. He says he is your brother.”

  Grace dropped her towel, slipped into her dressing robe and pulled her wet hair over her shoulder. She could not have heard Mrs. Dewberry right. Leland never left Devon. This was likely another of Barrington’s tricks. “What does he look like, Mrs. Dewberry?”

  “A might like you, I suppose. Dark hair, fair skin, taller, though, and lanky-built.”

  That description sounded like Leland. Her heart began to beat faster and she fought the impulse to run. They were adults. She was in her own house. He could do nothing to her. She took a deep breath and picked up her comb to work the tangles from the thick rope of hair. “Tell him I will be down presently.”

  “He said now, Missus.”

  Yes. That would be Leland. And then he would rail at her for not taking the time to comb her hair. She glanced at her clock. Six. Dianthe would be home from tea with the Thayers soon, and who knew when Adam might return. She wanted Leland gone by then. She could only imagine the sort of scene he would make if faced with her houseguests. She squeezed the excess moisture from her hair and dragged the comb through the lengths several times and secured it at her nape with a white ribbon. That would have to do until she could get rid of Leland.

  They hurried down the stairs and Grace gave Mrs. Dewberry a reassuring smile and a little push toward the kitchen. She suspected the woman would eavesdrop, but that was to be expected. In the three years the Dewberry’s had worked for her, this was Leland’s first visit.

  She took a deep breath, donned an unconcerned expression and opened the parlor door. Typically, Leland was not sitting, but pacing. He turned to look at her and his expression registered dismay.

  Grace smiled and went to him. Rising on tiptoes, she brushed a dutiful kiss on his cheek and then retreated. “Leland. How nice to see you. Had I known you were coming, I’d have been prepared.”

  “Loose hair is a vanity, Grace,” he said.

  She twisted the hank into a knot but let it drop without hairpins to secure it. “Y-yes, I know, but I just got out of the bath and—”

  “Do you often receive in your dressing gown?”

  “I would have dressed but Mrs. Dewberry said you were urgent and—”

  “That, at least, is a relief.”

  Grace took a deep breath and tried again. “How is Pricilla?”

  “Lost another one,” he said, resuming his pacing. “The woman cannot hold on to a babe to save her life.”

  She studied her brother in dismay. He’d always been insensitive, but he seemed to have gotten worse. He looked so like their father, but emotionally they were exact opposites.

  “I am so sorry to hear that, Leland. How is her health?”

  “The doctor says she is not likely to bring any fruit to bear. But I will have my heir.”

  Something snapped in Grace’s mind. She was sick to death of catering to Leland’s ill temper and selfishness. “Even if it kills her? Be reasonable, Leland.”

  “Reasonable?” He wheeled around to face her. “A fine word coming from you, Grace. What reasonable thing have you done in your entire life but marry the man I chose for you?”

  She bit her tongue, telling herself that it was not because she was afraid, but because she wanted to be rid of him as quickly as possible. “Why did you come, Leland?”

  “To recall you to your senses. I have heard that you have taken this Hawthorne person as your lover. Your behavior is beyond the pale. Have the Dewberry woman pack a bag for you. You are returning to Devon with me immediately. Allowing you to live alone has given you the illusion of independence, Grace. I never should have made that mistake. I shall have to remedy that now.”

  Grace could only stare at him. Surely he’d taken leave of his senses! She’d open her veins before she’d live under Leland’s roof. And then, as if a cloud had lifted from her mind, she began to put all the troubling pieces together.

  “It has been Barrington feeding you information, hasn’t it? Every time something happened that he did not like, I received a letter from you. He has been spying on me. The two of you have been controlling me for years. Since…since Basil’s death!”

  “You have been allowed your freedom, Grace, providing you did not go too far afield. Now you will have to come home with me until you come to your senses.”

  “Why now?”

  “You are completely out of hand.” His voice was cold and unemotional. “Cavorting with that Hawthorne man, taking him as a lover and having him under your roof. Frolicking through every lowlife gaming hell in London in search of tawdry thrills. Risking everything on the turn of a card.”

  Grace knew she should retreat. Knew she should agree to anything Leland said to avoid the inevitable consequences. But she no longer cared. Cautious Grace was gone and defiant Ellie had taken her place. “Why do you care, Leland? The worst that could happen is that I would end up under your roof again, and yet that is what you are proposing now. You did not threaten to take me back when you thought Barrington was my lover. What earthly difference should it make to you who sleeps in my bed?”

  Leland narrowed his eyes and delivered a sharp slap to her cheek then gave her a push. “Are you a whore now, Grace, willing to make yourself, and me, the subject of gossip? Did you really think I’d stand by and do nothing? Watch all my careful work go for naught?”

  Her hip landed against a corner of the tea cart and she winced. Still, she backed away, angry enough at the moment to be grateful she did not have a gun within reach. All his careful work? The words clicked into place and Grace realized what had been eluding her. “You forged Basil’s will, did you not?” she asked, still backing toward the door. “You and Barrington—to be certain I inherited?” Her mind reeled as old events took on new meaning. Even Barrington’s veiled threats finally made sense. “That is fraud, Leland. I was supposed to marry Lord Barrington, was I not? And you would have shared Basil’s wealth once I was no longer in control?”

  Leland advanced on her, baring his teeth in an ugly snarl. “We will not be cheated, Grace.”

  Dianthe practically fell into Adam’s arms as he came through the kitchen from the stables. Gasping, she landed against his chest and gathered his shirtfront in her fists. “Oh!” she gasped. “Thank heavens you’re here! Come quickly, Adam!”

  “What is it?”

  “Leland is here. He’s threatening to take Grace away!”

  Grace’s brother? When had he arrived in town?

  “And he struck her!”

  “Where are they?”

  “The parlor! I just came home and heard them arguing. When I peeked in and saw him strike her, I came looking for help.”

  He headed for the parlor, waving Dianthe back. He did not want her in the way if there was a brawl. He heard
Grace’s voice raised in a denouncement and the sneering tones of a masculine voice. He threw the parlor door open and stepped in.

  Both occupants turned to him. Grace, dressed in a soft pastel wrapper, her hair loosely bound in back, displayed obvious relief, while the man betrayed contempt.

  “Hawthorne, I presume?” He sneered.

  “Correct,” Adam admitted. “And you are Leland York?”

  “Get out, Hawthorne. This is between me and my harlot of a sister.”

  “Not on a cold day in hell, York.”

  Grace moved between them, backing up against Adam’s chest as if prepared to protect him. He smiled down at the top of her head, charmed with the notion that she would risk herself for his safety.

  “Get out, Leland. And do not come back,” she said.

  “You will need me someday, Grace, when your new lover has taken everything and left you a pauper.”

  “I will sell matchsticks on the street and sleep on the steps of St. Paul’s first,” she swore.

  Leland York bared his teeth and took a step toward her.

  Gently but firmly, Adam gripped Grace’s shoulders and moved her aside. “You will go through me,” he warned. His muscles tensed and his hands bunched into fists.

  Leland made his move, a quick lunge with a roundhouse punch. But Adam did not fight according to any dandified London rules. He fought like an Indian. He ducked beneath Leland’s swing and came up behind him. Seizing Leland’s left wrist, he jerked it upward behind his back and slipped his other arm around the man’s neck. Just because the man deserved it, he pulled the man’s arm sharply upward until he heard a pop.

  Leland howled in pain as Adam turned him around and walked him out of the parlor toward the front door. “You’ve broken my arm,” he accused between sobs.

  “Don’t think so,” Adam said, his voice filled with amusement. “I’ve dislocated your elbow. Have a doctor look at it. Painful, to be sure, but you’ll be fine in a few weeks.”

  Dianthe, still waiting in the foyer, saw them coming and opened the door. Adam gave the man a push and Leland landed on his knees on the street.