He softened a bit, shoulders sagging as he recognized the loyalty of this man toward his lady.
“I care for her … deeply. I just want to help. Please, if you know anything …”
“The name’s Randall,” the driver offered, his tone gruff. “And as I said, it’s not my place to tell m’lady’s secrets. But … well, if Lady Downin’ has died, then it stands to reason Sir Downin’ is the one what did her in.”
Robert reeled as the weight of the other man’s words slammed into him with all the force of a blunt instrument. “How could you possibly know that?”
Randall scowled. “The sod was beatin’ her, and Lady Cassandra knew it. There’s bad blood between her and Sir Downin’, and if his she suspects he killed his wife …”
The panic thrumming through him swelled until Robert feared he would choke on it. His heart was clutched in a vise, his hands shaking as the implications of what the servant was saying became clear.
What do you love … what will you fight for?
Justice.
She’d all but told him what she would do, and he had missed it, too caught up in the turmoil of watching her slip through his fingers.
“Do you think she would confront him over it?”
Randall scoffed and gave him a pointed look. “If you care for her as you say, then you already know the answer to that, don’t you?”
He did. Deep down he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Cassandra meant to act on her suspicions. Sir Downing’s account of his wife’s fall down the stairs would be believed, and no one would think to probe any deeper. If Cassandra thought there was a chance the man would get away with what he’d done the same way Bertram had gotten away with his crimes for years, she would not be able to stand back and allow it.
“Where would she go once she reaches London?” he pressed. “Can you tell me that much?”
Randall sagged, a defeated expression overcoming his face. “Penrose House would be the last place she’d go at a time like this. You might try the home of the Widow Dane. There’s also a place she takes rooms in from time to time … The Pulteney Hotel, 105 Picadilly.” “I know of it,” he said before turning to stride away.
“Are you goin’ after her?” Randall called out after him.
“Yes,” he replied without a glance back.
Yes, he was going after her. How could he not? Cassandra might insist she was not some damsel in need of saving, but her reckless behavior proved otherwise. She might not want him right now, but she damn sure needed him. If he stood back and allowed her to go through with her plan to confront Downing, there was no telling what might come of it. If the man was not above abusing or killing his own wife, Robert did not want to think about what he might do to Cassandra.
THREE DAYS LATER, Robert stood on the threshold of Penrose House, his first stop after arriving in London. He had not even bothered seeking out his own lodgings before beginning his search for Cassandra. Time was running short, and she had been here at least a day or two longer than him—meaning she could be anywhere. The time had come for swift action, and he was done allowing doubts and fears to hold him back.
He would drag her back to Suffolk kicking and screaming if he had to; but he would not leave London without her.
Upon answering the door, the butler accepted his card and led him into a drawing room where two women sat awaiting morning callers. Fashionably dressed and groomed to perfection, the dowager duchess and her youngest daughter were as lovely as he remembered. Only, the malice and scorn he found simmering in the depths of Lady Lane’s eyes proved off-putting, turning her beauty in something glacial and hard. Anger overwhelmed him at the sight of this woman, who had stood back and allowed the ton to make an outcast of her own daughter. The woman who had accepted Lord Fairchild’s money in place of the justice Cassandra had deserved.
The dowager gave her daughter a little nudge as he came into the room, and the chit sat up straight, a soft smile gracing her face as she looked Robert over from head to toe. Her gaze irritated her, striking him as vapid and shallow. He’d never been introduced to the youngest Lane girl, but it became clear to him then that the machinations of a matchmaking mama had just come into play. As if he would have any interest in a debutante who was little more than a child.
“Mr. Stanley,” the dowager said with a practiced smile. “What a pleasant surprise. Please, sit down.”
Remaining on his feet, he narrowed his eyes at the dowager. “No, thank you, my lady. I am looking for Lady Cassandra.”
The girl’s face lit up with curiosity while the mother scowled, looking as if she’d just taken a sip of turpentine.
“Whatever for?” she spat.
He clenched his jaw to hold back the insults dancing on the edge of his tongue. After his long and tiring journey, he stood seconds away from throttling the woman.
“A private matter,” he snapped. “I only need to know if she is here.”
The dowager’s expression became downright cold as she rose to her feet, unfolding her limbs with a stiff sort of grace. “If she is in London, she has not seen fit to show her face here. You may try the home of the Widow Dane. It should hardly surprise you that a woman like Cassandra would keep company with such a strumpet.”
His fingernails bit into his palms as he turned away, needing to be out of this woman’s company before he did or said something he ought not.
“I will stop in there. Thank you.”
“Have a care, Mr. Stanley,” the dowager called out, halting him in the doorway. “My daughter has a certain reputation for snaring men into her trap. If you are not on your guard, she will drag your name through the mud, as well.”
That did it. Hang social niceties or good manners … he was now out of them when it came to this woman. He turned to face her, the force of his rage making him vibrate from the inside out.
“You, Lady Lane, might be the greatest bitch I’ve ever encountered.”
The dowager bristled, her spine snapping straight as her face drew into an expression of fury. Meanwhile, her daughter gasped, one hand clapping over her mouth.
“I beg your pardon?” the dowager huffed.
“You heard me quite well. Your daughter trapped no one, and Bertram Fairchild and his father deserved to carry the weight of every accusation leveled against them. Cassandra was a victim in need of love and understanding, and you gave her only scorn. You should have led the charge against her assailant rather than placing the blame upon her. You should have fought them rather than accept money as payment—money that is tainted with your daughter’s own blood and tears. You are a disgrace and a pitiful excuse for a mother.”
The dowager seethed, her face flushing as she approached him, fists balled up as if she meant to pummel him. He stood his ground, shoulders squared, chin raised.
“How dare you?” she ground out. “Leave this house, before I have you thrown out.”
He took a step forward, looming over her with a satisfied smirk at the way she backed down, uncertainty flashing in her eyes.
“Gladly. And Cassandra will never step foot over the threshold ever again, I will make sure of it.”
“Good,” she fired back with a vicious smile. “She is not welcome here, and neither are you. Now leave.”
“Go to Hell,” he muttered before turning to make his exit.
Long strides carried him into the corridor, where a flurry of servants rushed to be out of his way. They’d been listening in, and now went about their tasks while trying to pretend otherwise. The butler gave him a curious stare but said nothing as Robert barreled through the house. Without bothering to wait for a servant to see to the task, he threw the door open himself and burst out onto the front steps.
Anger at the dowager flamed hot in his belly but he pushed it down, his mind turning back to Cassandra. While he’d love nothing more than to go back into Penrose House and continue giving her a piece of his mind, his mission superseded all else. He had to find Cassandra and put a stop to whatever
scheme she had cooked up.
His carriage remained where he had left it, idling in front of the townhouse.
“Where to now, sir?” the driver asked as Felix threw open the door and jumped down to place the steps for him.
“The home of the Widow Dane on Half-Moon Street,” he declared.
“Aye, sir … I know the place.”
He leaped into the carriage without another word, slamming the door shut once Felix had climbed in after him. Settling on the seat, he ground his teeth and stared out the window, impatient to be to his next destination. The city was coming alive for the day, Grosvenor Square teeming with people in carriages and on foot out to make their morning calls. The traffic had not thickened enough to slow their progress, and before long they had arrived at the home of Lady Millicent Dane.
Robert jumped down from the carriage without waiting for the steps and marched straight to the door. He gave no thought to the fact that they’d never been formally introduced and had no previous acquaintance. None of that mattered, not when finding Cassandra was more paramount than anything.
A footman with a Corinthian frame answered the door, giving him a curious look. Robert knew he must look like hell, his clothing rumpled from long hours in the carriage, hair tousled from tug of his fingers, his eyes darting and bloodshot.
“I need to speak with Lady Dane, immediately. It is important.”
The footman held a hand out to accept his card. “I will see if my lady is in. Wait here.”
He closed the door and left Robert on the doorstep, where he began to pace, too anxious to stand still. Back and forth, he tread the short distance from one end to the other, counting the seconds that passed him by. Before long, the man reappeared, holding the door open wide.
“Right this way.”
He was ushered into a drawing room, the contents of which temporarily took him aback. He’d heard rumors of the Widow Dane’s eccentricities, but had not expected this. Erotic art and sculptures filled a room adorned in decadent shades of black and red. The woman herself sat in an armchair with a cup and saucer in one hand, her probing gaze affixed upon Robert.
“Thank you, Timothy,” she said, dismissing the footman with the wave of one hand. “Mr. Stanley, do make yourself comfortable. Can I send for tea or other refreshment? I assume you’ve just arrived from Suffolk.”
He lowered himself onto a loveseat across from her, bracing his elbows upon his knees. “No, thank you. Forgive the intrusion, but I’ve come to London looking for Cassandra. I was told she might be here.”
“She was here last night, actually. I offered her the use of one of my guest rooms, but she declined.”
Robert bit back a string of epithets. Yet another stop that yielded nothing, more time wasted. But then, this woman was a close friend of Cassandra’s. Maybe she could help shed some light onto the things he did not know.
“I need your help. I know the two of you are good friends, and perhaps she might have said something about her plans. I am worried about her … she left Suffolk in quite a state.”
Lady Dane sighed, setting her cup aside and clasping her fingers together in her lap. “I must confess to being concerned myself. In truth, I am glad you’ve come, Robert … May I call you Robert? We are connected by our mutual connection to Cassandra, so formalities are not necessary. ”
“Of course.”
“Then you will call me Millie. Now, about Cass … she turned up here last night, and she was quite agitated. She wanted to talk to me about Sir Downing.”
It was just as he and Randall had suspected. Robert leaned forward a bit, hanging on to Millicent’s every word.
“It is not common knowledge, but there has been much gossip about the man and his wife. I’d seen her bruises myself, and the poor woman was terrified to death of Sir Downing. But what is to be done in a world where a woman is nothing more than the property of her husband?”
“I have reason to believe Cassandra thinks Lady Downing’s fall down the stairs was not an accident. Would you happen to have any information in that regard?”
She nodded, the clasp of her hands tightening until they began to shake. “Servant gossip has made its way here. My footman, Peter, reported having heard that Sir Downing and his wife quarreled right before her death. There was a great deal of noise—crashing furniture, shouting, a woman’s sobs. Reportedly, she took a valise and left their bedchamber in tears, determined to be free of him. Where she intended to run, I do not know—her mother’s home, perhaps. All anyone knows is that a moment later she went tumbling down the stairs head over heels. The poor thing broke her neck and died on the spot. The servants did not see the fall, but a chambermaid claims she noticed Sir Downing on the landing a moment after she fell.”
Dread seized him, his stomach twisting at the image she painted. “Do you think he pushed her?”
Millicent raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “A man who abuses a woman the way Sir Downing did is capable of all sorts of atrocities. As a woman who has lived with such a man, I can tell you I feared for my life every hour of every day.”
Robert studied the Ravishing Widow, seeing something in her he’d never noticed until he’d gotten close enough. Beneath her allure and the confidence she wore as a second skin was a vulnerability—a sadness that rested just beneath the facade. It was no wonder she and Cassandra were such good friends—they had much in common.
“Did you tell Cassandra about all this?” he asked.
“I did,” she replied. “And soon after, she left. I tried to stop her, to get her to tell me what this might be all about. But, she was determined to leave. I’ve been wondering what she’s up to ever since.”
He ran a hand over his face and sighed. Having his fears confirmed brought him no comfort. He knew Cassandra must have taken rooms in a hotel as Randall suggested, and could be preparing to move against Sir Downing even now.
“I believe she means to confront him.”
Millicent gasped, one hand clutching at her throat. “My God. I … I never thought of that, but I believe you may be right. Ever since the trial she has spoken often of her distaste for injustices against women. She is angry, and with good reason. We have so few tools with which to defend ourselves, and it enrages her to know there are others like her out there—more women who have been hurt but can do nothing about it.”
Rising to his feet, he gave a slow nod, his mind racing as he thought of what he’d have to do next. If Cassandra was determined to ensure Sir Downing paid for murdering his wife, she would not stop until she’d seen it through.
Millicent rose as well, hands clenching her skirts. “Will you try to stop her?”
“I will,” he declared. “Someone must. If Sir Downing will harm his own wife, then Cassandra will be no different.”
She nodded her agreement. “You should know that she can defend herself. My own footman gave her lessons in warding off an attacker with both her fists as well as weapons.”
“It is not her ability to fend for herself that worries me. Anger has made her irrational, and I fear it could get her killed. I cannot allow that to happen. Thank you for your help. I will report back when I have news.”
He turned to leave, but she rounded the low table between them and took hold of the sleeve of his coat. When he turned to face her, Robert found a soft smile upon her lips.
“I knew she’d made the right choice in you,” she said. “Cassandra has been hurt, and erected her defenses as a result. It is the only way she knows to survive.”
“It was you who encouraged her to find a bedmate that night at the White Cock,” he said, giving voice to what he’d suspected all along. “You who pushed her to move past the pain of what Bertram did to her.”
“Yes. I wanted her to be free from her fears over intercourse and intimacy. But, I think she has found so much more in you.”
Robert liked to think so, too, even if she insisted upon fighting him. Perhaps that was the reason she resisted him. The walls she’d erect
ed around her heart would not allow her to love him, to let him love her.
“Do not give up,” Millicent said, seeming to sense the direction of his thoughts. “Cassandra has been let down by every person she’s ever cared for except her father, and the man is dead. She will fight you every moment, but you can get through to her. Fight for her, Robert. Fight, and do not let go no matter how much she may tell you she wishes otherwise.”
She released him, and he continued on his way through the drawing room doors.
“I won’t,” he declared before clearing the room.
As he exited the house, he clung tight to Millicent’s words, along with his own hopes. The question of whether he would fight for Cassandra was no longer one he wrestled with. He had no choice in the matter, and deep down he’d known that from the beginning.
The only thing left to be settled was how long she would hold him off before giving in. Robert had plenty of practice with patience, and this time he was more determined than ever. Never again would he stand back and allow what he wanted most to be snatched out of his grasp. He would take hold of her and keep her out of the fire, no matter how determined she was to throw herself into the flames. He would hold on to her and never let go.
Chapter 10
After arriving in London and situating herself in The Pulteney
Hotel, Cassandra had conducted her own investigation into the death of Lady Downing. Her instincts told her Sir Downing had pushed his wife down those stairs, but she needed to be sure.
So, she’d gone to Millicent, who had let her in on the servant gossip circulating about the suspicious happenings on that fateful night. Then, under the cover of night, she had stood outside Downing’s townhome and watched for any sign of movement. The moment a servant emerged, setting off on some errand or other, she had followed. Cornering the man near the mews, she’d used the threat of her knife to prod him into spilling the truth. Everything he’d told her aligned with Millicent’s story—the shouting and sounds of things being thrown about, the sight of Sir Downing at the top of the stairs as she lay broken at the bottom. Paying the servant for his silence, Cassandra had let him go and shifted her focus to the murderous bastard who would now feel her wrath.
The Damsel: A Villain Duology Sequel Page 21
