Xavier lowered his body toward the floor and raised it again. Routine had become his sanity and keeping his strength was necessary as he planned his next escape. “I could do the milking for you, if you like.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Vistoire.”
It had been worth a try. He supposed he would have to break out of the attic just like every other place Benny had tried to hold him.
Earlier in the week, Xavier had kicked loose the boards nailed over one of the farmhouse’s bedchamber windows and climbed down the drainspout. He’d almost been free, but Benny returned from his monthly excursion to the village early and caught him in the meadow. For a large man, he was fleet-footed.
Now, Xavier was back in the attic. From his previous stay, he knew the window lead to a four-story drop to the hard packed ground, and the moth-eaten clothes kept in the trunk weren’t strong enough to fashion a rope. Benny had repaired the door, and Xavier was not supposed to break the lock this time. Even if he ignored his gaoler’s request, Xavier wouldn’t make it past Benny now that he spent most of the day guarding him.
The stairs groaned under Benny’s weight. Xavier pushed to his feet and approached the door. “Mon ami, today you will allow me to go, no?”
“No,” Benny said. His lumbering footsteps sounded on the stairs, growing quieter as he moved farther away.
Xavier sighed. Nothing ever swayed his unlikely companion.
Other than the beginning of his incarceration, Xavier had no contact with anyone besides Benny, which suited him fine as long as he was stuck here. The other gents who’d grabbed him outside the Den of Iniquity and brought him to the farmhouse had been unable to hear, or else hadn’t wanted to listen. No matter how many times he’d denied being a French spy, they’d kept hitting him and asking the same question. Eventually, they must have decided he was telling the truth, because they left and hadn’t returned.
Yet, a little over two years since he was snatched from the alley leading to the gaming hell, he was still a prisoner.
When Xavier was reasonably certain Benny had left the house to see to the morning chores, he grabbed the lamp from the primitive bedside table and hurried to the weak spot he’d discovered in the floor last night. The board bent slightly under his weight and crackled. Xavier bent down to investigate. He pried up the edge of a plank and a piece of it broke away. The wood beneath the surface had begun to crumble.
He smiled. “Dry rot.”
Standing, he slammed his boot heel against the floor and heard the sweet sound of splintering wood. He stomped the spot repeatedly until the board gave way and fell in pieces to the room below. A beam of light poked its way through the hole, and he crouched to determine what room was located beneath this part of the attic. Debris littered a large bed covered with a faded blue-stitched quilt. Once he’d created a hole big enough to climb through, he would have a soft and quiet landing.
He returned to stomping the floor to make as much progress on the hole as possible while Benny was outside. By tomorrow, he hoped to have his escape route ready. He would leave after nightfall when he heard Benny snoring and make his way back to London. The farmhouse was north of the city, or so he had gathered from his nightly conversations with Benny, which often were one-sided since Xavier’s gaoler was not a verbose man.
How far from London, Xavier didn’t know. He’d been in and out of consciousness for the trip there. Benny didn’t know either. The man barely recalled living anywhere else. He was six when his mother died, and he was sent to the old farmhouse. Benny had never gone any further than the village ever since. After the caretaker and his wife passed away several years ago, Benny had been without regular human contact. It was a wonder he wasn’t chattier.
Xavier abandoned the hole in anticipation of Benny completing his chores and dragged the trunk filled with the tattered clothes over it before he returned to the house. As he had discovered the first time he was locked in the attic, there were an abundance of useless items stored here.
He grabbed an overhead rafter at the highest point in the attic, made sure it could hold his weight, and continued his exercises while he waited for Benny to bring his breakfast. A loud clacking sound from the lock tumbling interrupted his last exercise. He finished pulling himself up so his chin was higher than the board before he dropped to the floor and moved toward the door.
“Porridge again, my friend?” he asked as the door swung open.
Benny grunted in reply and ducked to enter the doorway. He was empty-handed.
Xavier frowned. Benny thrived on routine, too. No porridge, or any morning fare, alerted Xavier that something was wrong.
Benny pursed his lips, which seemed to be permanently stained burgundy from eating an unusual amount of pickled beets. “Come to the kitchen.”
The hair on the back of Xavier’s neck stood on end. Occasionally, Benny brought him below stairs for companionship, but his voice never quivered when he spoke. Something was definitely out of sorts. “Why?”
Benny lunged and clamped his burly hand around Xavier’s upper arm. “Please,” he hissed. His breath smelled of vinegar.
Xavier allowed Benny to pull him toward the stairway. He couldn’t ignore a possible opportunity to escape, even if he didn’t know what he would find below stairs.
In the kitchen, nothing appeared to be afoot. A fire burned in the red brick hearth blackened with soot. Steam rolled from the spout of the heavy kettle hanging over the flames, and a tin of porridge and a large bowl sat on the wide-plank table.
Tension drained from his body. “You could have just said you were lonely. You had me worried for a moment.”
“As you should be,” someone said behind him.
Xavier spun toward the sound, and his pulse ripped through his veins. The man responsible for his abduction and interrogation was standing in the pantry doorway with a pistol pointed at him.
“What do you want, Farrin? Nothing has changed. I am still not a French spy.”
A leisurely smile spread across the blackguard’s thin lips. His rust-colored hair lay slick with pomade against his head. “Benny,” he barked.
Xavier’s gaoler grabbed him from behind and slammed him onto the wooden bench at the table. His meaty hands gripped Xavier’s shoulders to hold him in place.
He gritted his teeth. “Benny, what did we agree about not manhandling me?”
“Sorry, Mr. Vistoire.” The man loosened his grip and bent forward, bringing his round face into view. Xavier could see the gaps where he was missing teeth. “You have a visitor,” he whispered.
“So I see,” Xavier drawled.
Even though his heart was pounding, he wouldn’t give Farrin the satisfaction of knowing he’d caught him by surprise. Before the interrogation could begin, he recited the story he’d told the blackguard two years ago. It hadn’t changed in the weeks following his abduction when Farrin ordered his henchmen to beat the truth from him, and it was the same now.
“I am an American. I hail from New Orleans, and I’m not a bloody Frog, as your countrymen have so cleverly dubbed the French.”
He cared nothing for either country’s politics. He only wanted to go home.
“I know who you are, Mr. Vistoire, and what you are not. At the moment, you look like something the dog dragged in.” He made a show of leaning toward Xavier and sniffing. “And pissed on.”
Benny bent forward to sniff him too. His unruly brows angled toward each other in confusion. “I don’t smell anything. No dogs have been around for a long time now.”
Farrin cocked a hip on the edge of the table, ignoring Benny’s observation. Xavier took in the richness of his navy blue coat and the perfect tailoring. His clothing suggested wealth, but the deep lines of his face told another story. He wasn’t a pampered son of nobility. He had seen a good many days of labor in his past.
Xavier scowled. “If you know who I am, why are you still holding me?”
The man didn’t acknowledge his inquiry, and instead, passed an assessing gl
ance over Xavier from head to toe. His top lip curled as he found him lacking.
Xavier’s fingers twitched with the urge to smooth his unruly dark hair. Vanity had an odd way of rearing its head when his appearance was the least of his concerns. Farrin’s brown eyes gleamed, revealing the pleasure he took in his discomfort.
Xavier sprawled insolently on the chair. He’d perfected indifference years ago. “Had I known I’d have a visitor, I would have summoned my valet first thing.”
Farrin reached inside his coat and retrieved a piece of paper. “I am in need of your services.”
Xavier accepted the sheet he held out and unfolded it. There were primitive ink drawings of the interior of a house and an address written on the page. “Do I look like I am a servant? Do you mistake me for a bloody footman or butler?” He flicked the paper back at him. It floated to the floor.
The man sighed as if he were dealing with a child then bent to retrieve the drawing.
“You should hear Tommy out,” Benny said in his ear. His fingers were still digging into Xavier’s shoulders to keep him immobilized.
Farrin nailed Benny with a scathing look, and Xavier felt the tremor pass through the larger man.
“I’m not supposed to call him Tommy any more,” Benny whispered in his ear. “He is Mr. Farrin now. Listen to him, because this is your chance to go home.”
The mention of home caused Xavier’s eyes to narrow. Was this a new means of torture? Dangling what he wanted most in the world in front of him just to snatch it away, or did Farrin hope to use Xavier’s longings to manipulate him? He’d sooner trust a snake than the blackguard.
Farrin’s keen gaze bore into him. “You do wish to go home again, do you not?”
“What do you want?” In Xavier’s experience, no one did anything for another person unless they wanted something in return.
Farrin imitated a sheepish shrug. The hardness to his eyes said he wasn’t ashamed in the least. “An interested party is willing to pay handsomely for a map kept at this address. I want you to search for it tonight while the residents are attending a ball.”
He slid onto the bench across from Xavier, spread the paper on the table, and touched his finger to the diagram. “It is likely to be in one of three rooms. The library, study, or the master’s chambers. I will tell you how best to search for the hiding spot to make quick work of it.”
“A map?” Xavier gaped at the drawing then at the lunatic sitting across the table. “Like a treasure map? As in pirates with buried gold, or leprechauns and rainbows?”
“Like a bloody map,” Farrin snapped, his face flushing crimson. “It is the key to you leaving England. That’s all you need to know. Retrieve it, hand it over to Benny, and you will be on the next ship sailing to America.”
Benny grunted in surprise. “I can leave the farm? Can I go to America too?”
Farrin’s icy gaze darted to the man standing behind Xavier. He could feel Benny shrinking back.
“If you want it,” Xavier said, pulling the man’s attention back toward him, “why not retrieve it yourself? Or use one of your men.”
“Because if you help me, I will help you in return. Tonight you could be a free man.”
The devil, he would be free. He knew a liar when he saw one. Drumming his fingers against the table, he pretended to give Farrin’s offer serious consideration. “If I agree to do your dirty work, how do you propose I go about it? I cannot fathom the butler will grant me entrance to search the premises while the residents are away.”
“Wedmore House is between butlers, which I’ve come to understand is a common condition.”
“And the other servants?”
“There is a housekeeper, cook, coachman, and a lady’s maid. The maid has been visiting her sister and her newborn nephew on the evenings the ladies are away. The cook and housekeeper return to their own homes at night, and the coachman has quarters in the coach house.”
“You seem to know a lot about the goings-on around there.”
“The streets have eyes and ears, Mr. Vistoire. I know a good many things about a lot of people.”
“Again I ask, why me?”
Farrin’s eyebrows rose on his forehead as if he was bewildered by the question. “How many times have you almost escaped, Mr. Vistoire? You are harder to contain than water in a bucket full of holes. I have no doubt you are capable of getting away if you are about to be discovered.”
Oh, Xavier would find a way out. If Farrin believed he would return with or without a map, the man was a fool. Once Xavier was out of sight, he would be on the next ship home.
“Besides,” Farrin said, “if you are captured, no one will care what happens to a French spy who has escaped from custody.”
“I am not a bloody spy,” Xavier said through clenched teeth.
Farrin flashed a sly smile. “You are if I identify you as one.”
In other words, if Xavier was caught, he would never see home again. Hell, he might even be executed, which settled the matter quickly in his mind. He wouldn’t be caught.
“Prove you intend to release me after I bring you the map. I’ll need decent clothes and money for my fare.”
“And a bath,” Benny added.
Xavier frowned up at him. “You said you didn’t smell anything.”
“You always ask for a bath. I thought you’d be pleased.”
Farrin growled under his breath, and Benny snapped his mouth closed. “I will find clothes for you,” Farrin said. “Benny can see to the bath. We leave at dusk.”
Xavier lifted the paper to study the drawing once more. “Wedmore House. I don’t believe I had the honor of meeting Mr. Wedmore during my time in London Society.”
“Earl of Wedmore.” Farrin’s reddish brow arched. “Nor do I expect you ever will, Mr. Vistoire.”
Several hours later, they were headed to London. Xavier was clean, well attired in clothes only slightly too large for him, and wedged onto the same bench with Benny in Farrin’s travel coach. The blackguard had only kept part of his word.
“Where is the money for my passage to New Orleans?” Xavier asked. “That was part of our agreement.”
Farrin flicked a disinterested look in Xavier’s direction before pulling his hat over his eyes and reclining in comfort on the spacious side of the coach. “You must think I’m a fool, Mr. Vistoire. What is to stop you from running to the docks as soon as you are out of my sight? You will receive your money when you deliver the map.”
Xavier bit back a curse. His time in London had been fruitful before he was abducted. Large wins at the gaming tables would allow him to return home a wealthy man once again, but he couldn’t access his bank account at this hour. And he had no proof of his identity. No shipmaster with a head for business would allow him passage without a guarantee of payment. He had to rethink his strategy for paying his fare, because he wasn’t coming back to collect it from Farrin.
Merde! A rather distasteful idea came to mind. Before he found a quick exit from Wedmore House, he must take a piece of jewelry. Xavier had committed many sins in his life. He’d gambled, drank his weight in rum, and cavorted with paramours, but he had never been a thief. It hardly seemed like the best way to begin his life as a reformed man, but he was out of choices.
Three
The evening of the Eldridge ball, Regina joined her two sisters and aunt in the drawing room while they awaited their escort. Cupid had wormed his way between her sisters on the settee and was catching up on his sleep.
Sophia and Evangeline were dressed in gorgeous gowns made from silks Uncle Charles had brought back from one of his excursions to the Far East. Sophia wore her favorite color, blue, and Evangeline had chosen a rich yellow that highlighted the subtle copper color of her hair.
Aunt Beatrice had donned a more vibrant emerald green gown. As she was fond of saying, even though she had never married or bore children of her own, she had managed a household and raised three girls. She’d earned the privilege of wearing whatever she
pleased.
“You all look lovely,” Regina said.
“Thank you, dearest.” Aunt Beatrice took up her yarn and needles from the sewing basket at her feet. After years of knitting, her aunt could create a shawl in her sleep, and she liked to keep her hands busy.
Sophia smiled, revealing a dimple in her right cheek. “I wasn’t certain which gown I should wear. Octavia said the Eldridge ball is the most prestigious social event of the Season, and I didn’t want to be underdressed.”
Octavia was Sophia’s best friend, and they hadn’t stopped chattering about the ball for days. “You’ve chosen well,” Regina assured her as she dropped onto the wingback chair across from her sisters.
Sophia leaned forward, her blue eyes sparkling. “Octavia said Lady Eldridge only chooses diamonds of the first water to attend her annual ball.”
Evangeline snorted softly. “I think Octavia might have wool for brains. I am hardly a diamond and I was included on the invitation.”
“Of course you were,” Sophia said. “You are one of the Darlington Angels.”
Regina shook her head slightly when Evangeline met her gaze. She didn’t want to spoil Sophia’s pleasure by revealing Crispin Locke, Viscount Margrave—an old family friend—was responsible for the coveted invitation.
“Regina, I truly don’t understand how you can miss the ball.” Sophia tossed her hands in the air as if she was aggravated by the whole affair. “This could be the most important night of your life.”
Regina shrugged one shoulder. She still hadn’t told her family about Lord Geoffrey or what the other men were saying about her. “I am feeling a bit tired. That is all. A restful evening will likely have me back to my usual self tomorrow.”
“Are you certain you don’t want me to send my regrets and keep you company?” Evangeline asked.
“You should go. Crispin might need your help keeping the husband-hunters at bay.”
Regina hadn’t wanted to impose on Crispin by asking him to escort her aunt and sisters to the ball—he unequivocally detested the marriage mart—but he was forever reminding Aunt Beatrice to call on him any time Uncle Charles was abroad. Regina was slightly surprised he hadn’t posed an argument when she saw him in the park and made her request that morning.
Secrets to a Gentleman's Heart (Uncle Charlie's Angels Book 1) Page 2
