He turned to her, whispering apologies, helping her to her feet. It was his first time to touch her when she was not in a fevered sleep. Even with Straka threatening to erupt just feet away, he savored the warmth of her skin beneath his hands. He lingered close, his face nearly touching her hair, his hand on the small of her back.
“Go,” he said gently. “Lock the door. Try not to worry.”
She laughed at that, a heavy, worried sound, and picked her way around the edge of the room to the door. When she had disappeared into the bedroom and slid the lock into place, Trevor said to Straka, “I have your money, but it is not here—”
“That is a lie! Iros has followed you for days. He followed you this very morning after the meeting with the viscount. The money is here.”
“Take a closer look, Janos,” Trevor said. “Iros is strong and loyal but hardly a logistical genius. He knows what he believes he saw, but there is a reason that you chose me to run your empire. Iros is a bodyguard, not a spy.”
“Iros never betrayed me!” Straka strained against the bindings. His voice dropped to a deadly growl. “And if he did, he would kill me when he had the chance. His life would be worthless, if I survived. As yours is now.”
“Come now,” said Trevor, “you cannot threaten me now. Not when I have so much lovely money for you. And why would I kill you? I don’t want you dead; I merely want you away from my wife.”
“Ah, yes. The wife who is not really your wife.” He scoffed, then he bellowed. “Untie me!”
“Not yet. Not until you’ve agreed to take the money and go—agree to leave me alone forever, as you said.”
“How can I take the money if it is not here? Untie me! Let us finish what we began!”
Trevor lied quickly. “Half of it is here. What Iros saw was some portion of the money to bribe the Americans. I never meant to give it to them, mind you; but they needed to see some proof.” He whipped open a wardrobe and emerged with a bulging leather satchel. “Would you like to see it, Janos? It’s your money. I have only to match it with the other half, which we can easily collect in my home, just miles from here, once you’ve agreed that this ugly conflict between us is over. I’ve blackmailed the bastard; now set me free.”
“That was before you attacked me! Insulted me by tying me to the floor like a dog!”
“Agree to finish this elsewhere, then I will untie you and will fetch the other half.”
Straka scowled and said nothing; Trevor dropped the money—which was, in fact, the total sum—beside his bound feet. Iros’s report had been accurate, and Trevor had been careless to detour here with it instead of going straight away to Hampstead. But there had been time to look in on her, and he could not resist it.
“Here it is. We will count it together, you and I. Hopefully your Serbian debtors will accept British pounds in notes from the Bank of England. That was all he could get.”
“Untie me, do you hear?” Straka roared, pulling against the bindings to peer into the satchel. “How much! How much would he give?”
“Five thousand, all told. You’ll find half of it here. The balance is under lock and key at my home in Henrietta Place. Iros may be watchful, but he has not seen all of my comings and goings, not by far.” The lie came more easily this time.
“Five thousand pounds,” Straka said with wonder, and Trevor cursed himself for going too high. Straka continued, “Meant a lot to him, did it? Keeping all that depravity away?”
Trevor said smoothly, “He balked at the price, actually, but I held firm. Five thousand was meaningful, but not impossible. Ultimately, he saw the value in your silence.”
“Untie me,” Straka demanded again. “Let us finish.”
“I would like to Straka, honestly I would, but I must be assured of your cooperation. We cannot fight to the death, you and I. In fact, we cannot fight at all. And we cannot remain here. My wife is ill, and we’ve terrified her staff. A doctor is due, soon, to call. There are neighbors. It’s simply not feasible. It’s why I asked to have this exchange in Hampstead. I am only here to look in on my wife. If you’d stuck to the plan, you would, perhaps, not find yourself bound.”
“Fine. Untie me and let us remove ourselves from your precious wife.”
Trevor crossed his hands over his chest. “Can you give me your word as a”—he made a coughing noise—“as a man who wishes to claim five thousand pounds, that there will be no further conflict? That we may peacefully hire some conveyance to my house and finish this?”
“Yes, yes!” Straka huffed. “Let me loose!”
“And you’re aware that if you cross me, if you slit my throat and steal away with this satchel here, then you will not see the rest?”
“Is that a threat, Tryphon?”
“No, it is a fact. Joseph has very clear instructions. You saw him leave here at a fast clip. If something befalls me, he will make the rest of the money immediately unavailable to you. It goes straight to the charity box at an orphanage in Berkshire, and it will be gone from you forever. Then where will you be? You’ll have the two and a half thousand pounds and the body of a dead earl, when you could have walked away with five.”
“You would lecture me about sums? Untie me!”
“Give me your word, Straka! We leave here immediately! Truce?”
“Fine! Let me go!”
“One more thing, when I give you balance of the money, you leave me alone—forever. No more favors. No more spies. I walk away, as do you.”
“I’ll never work with you again!” Straka declared. “You’re too much trouble.”
He recoiled when Trevor squatted beside him, flashing his knife. It was Trevor’s turn to laugh. “If I’d wanted to kill you, you would already be dead.”
“Ha!” Straka scoffed, watching him slit the stockings. “You couldn’t kill me. Too soft,” he muttered. “Always too soft. Your thin, English blood!”
Trevor severed the stockings, but he stopped short of helping Straka to his feet. He backed away, keeping the knife handy, watching the big man lean heavily against the wall to heave to his feet. When he was up, Trevor kicked the satchel to him.
“Count it, if you like.”
Straka laughed, straining low to swing the heavy bag to his shoulder. “You know I never count it until I am alone,” he said. “You also know what happens if I have been—”
He was cut off by a knock on the door.
Trevor’s gaze snapped to the entryway, and Janos craned around.
The knock sounded again. Louder, longer.
What now?
Trevor’s gaze flicked to the old man. Iros and Demetrios? No, it was far too soon. Joseph? Please, no. It was too soon for the doctor. The maid never knocked.
The rapping sounded a third time—more of a pounding now—and Trevor stopped trying to guess. He took up the most strategic position, flat against the wall, behind the door. Janos looped the strap of the satchel diagonally across his chest and wove through furniture, making his way to the window.
“Janos,” Trevor whispered. “Do not even think—”
Bam! The front door swung wide, nearly flattening Trevor, admitting a throng of uniformed policeman and Bryson Courtland, Viscount Rainsleigh.
Officers swarmed the room, filling every corner, while a sergeant barked orders. Straka bolted and was halfway to the window before they closed in and seized him. They discovered Trevor a moment later and took him up, too.
“Yes, that’s right, that’s them!” Rainsleigh said, striding to the center of the room. He pointed to each man in turn. “He’s got the swag—my money in my leather satchel, just as I described. He’s the Greek national, Janos Straka. Masterminded the whole thing. The other one is Falcondale, and he’s the Greek’s first lieutenant and chief extortionist. Arrest them both! They’ve just extorted me for five thousand pounds!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
It was impossible for Piety not to look. The shouting was too urgent and angry, the commotion too great. She unlocked the bedroom d
oor and cracked it, ever so slightly, peeking out.
The parlor was filled with police. There was also a tall, finely dressed man. His bearing was important, and the police regarded him with deference. He crossed his arms over his chest and made small gestures in the direction of Trevor and the Greek man. The police pounced, herding them against the wall, spinning them to press their faces against the plaster and wrenching their hands behind their backs. Piety watched in horror as they clapped irons on Trevor’s wrists.
She spun to Tiny and Jocelyn. “My clothes! Quickly! I must dress.”
The women opened their mouths to oppose her, but something about her expression deterred them. They shared a miserable look and fled to her trunks.
Piety turned back to the door. The Greek was fighting the police, blustering, resisting. They shackled him before taking a bulging satchel from his chest. Now they were forced to unchain him and played tug o’ war to untangle the bag.
Trevor appeared too stunned to fight. He craned around, as if straining to see the gentleman in the center of the room. The Greek man shouted to him in his own language, and Trevor answered.
She heard him say, “He doesn’t speak English. He won’t understand the charge!”
The gentleman said shortly, “Tell him it’s blackmail and extortion.”
Trevor translated, and there was more bluster. The policemen shouted over the angry Greek, working together to subdue him. It took four of them, but they hauled him to the door.
The gentleman shouted to Trevor over the din, “Perhaps your accomplice would go more peacefully if you explained that they will detain you separately. He is a foreigner, and you are an Englishman with a title. He needn’t worry that you don’t leave together. The booking procedure is not remotely the same!”
Trevor scowled at him and translated, shouting to be heard over the Greek man’s tirade.
Before he’d finished the translation, they began to hustle Trevor to the door. Piety’s heart seized. She spun to check the progress of a dress.
“We are looking for something that will go over your bandages!” Tiny whispered.
“It doesn’t matter,” Piety said urgently. “Anything! Hurry! The police are taking him away!”
She checked again. Trevor had finally begun to argue.
“Please, my wife! In the next room. She is not well. Pray, do not disturb her!”
The gentleman shook his head. “My accusation is not against his wife.”
“My lord,” a policeman said to him, “the money.” He held out the leather satchel.
The gentleman rifled through it. “We’ll want to count it. But it looks close to what I was ordered to place into the bag.”
Trevor was nearly to the door, being shoved and pulled by two policemen. “Rainsleigh!” He finally raised his voice. “My wife! I must speak to her. Five minutes! Tell them I require five minutes. She will not understand.”
The agony in his voice wrenched her heart from her chest, and she could not wait for a proper dress. “Falcondale!” she called, flinging the door open. “Wait. Please wait. I am here. Someone? Please, explain where he is being taken and why?”
Trevor craned around, fighting the hold of the officers, clawing to see her. The expression on his face was sheer panic.
“Piety! Not yet. Get back! You promised!”
Trevor squeezed his eyes shut. Of course, she would be noncompliant.
He shot a helpless glance at Rainsleigh and shoved against the policemen who held him. The viscount nodded, affected a small shrug, and ushered her back.
Good luck with that, Trevor thought, listening as Straka shouted another bright idea from the hallway.
“Bribe the police!” he said in Greek.
There was no way to finish this without terrifying her, and Trevor cursed himself for not giving her some idea of the raid. More bad timing. He hadn’t managed to explain even a fraction of the necessary history before Straka came to, and then the bloody raid itself had unfolded here, in her apartment. Why had Joseph brought them here?
Excuses now seemed pointless. When he stole a look at her face, creased with confusion and fear, his heart found a new, more painful way to break. He refused to allow himself the unfair hope that a hysterical Piety meant a Piety who still cared, although it did cross his mind, selfish bastard that he was.
But all of this was secondary to his chief goal of resisting police with enough vigor to convince Straka. If he could do it quickly enough to not scare Piety entirely out of her wits—or beyond forgiveness—perhaps he would have managed one success for the day.
But he dare not get ahead. Now, he would pretend to fight. Two policemen hustled him near the door. He reached out and latched onto the door facing, forcing them to pry him off. He shouted and swore in Greek, matching and answering Straka’s distant cries.
Behind it all, he was forced to hear the excruciating conversation Rainsleigh embarked upon with his wife.
“If you would be so kind, my lady,” the viscount began.
“I would not be so kind!”
Trevor fought on, praying she would not wrench away, that she would not strain her bandages or pass out from the shock of the fray. He heard her whimper, and he craned, shouldering to see around the over-eager policemen. “Rainsleigh?”
“She is with me,” Rainsleigh said. “She is safe with me.”
It was permission enough to finish this, to finally, truly fight. The policemen wrestled him to the first landing, down two more steps, mostly carrying him while he screamed in Greek. He had the fleeting thought that, even if Piety refused to live with him as his wife, she certainly could never live here. They’d all be evicted by sundown, if not before.
Finally, the cries and bluster from Straka grew fainter, as they managed to drag him through the lobby and out the door to the street. The sergeant saw it from the window and called down with a signal. Just like that, the platoon of policemen wrestling Trevor let him go and danced back. Trevor collapsed against the wall, panting. They unlocked the irons on his wrists and he sprinted back up the steps.
“Piety, I am well. I am here. It was a charade.” He grabbed the doorway, gasping for breath.
To Rainsleigh, he said, “Why the devil did you not go to Henrietta Place? Did Joseph not reach you?”
“Easy, Falcondale,” said the viscount, “Joseph was convinced that the Greek would not part ways with the money for a detour to your house. We made the tactical decision to begin here. Joseph went to your house, just in case. He’s run himself and his horse ragged, sprinting around town to make it right. I have apologized to Lady Piety. It was a risk, I know.”
Rainsleigh looked guiltily at Piety. “I hope you’ll consider blaming me and not your husband. His highest priority was that you be kept safe. I was afraid we’d miss our chance if we did not come to the last location that we knew both Straka and the earl to be, not to mention the bag of money. It was a risk, but the right one, I think.” He glanced at Trevor. Falcondale shook his head slowly, feigning disgust.
Rainsleigh went on, “This bit of theatre landed your husband’s tormentor in jail—hopefully forever. And, saved him five thousand pounds.”
“But I don’t understand,” Piety said. She locked eyes with Trevor.
He shoved off the door and walked to her. “You look pale,” he said.
“It is the color of complete and utter confusion. And fear! Please, Falcondale, tell me again. You’re not being hauled to jail?”
“No, not jail.” Trevor stopped in front of her. “But it was essential that Straka believe that I was going, same as he. If he ever gets out of prison, it will be safer for us this way.”
Rainsleigh stepped away. “Indeed.” He nodded to the policemen who still loitered in the room, and they began to file out. “The sergeant also suggests that you turn up in Scotland Yard sometime in the near future and pretend to be an outraged detainee. For the old man’s benefit. It is true that they would never have held you together, and Newgate is a big
place, but he might see you once or twice. Perhaps as he’s dragged to interrogation? After we have rounded up his two henchmen.”
Trevor sighed. “Oh, God, after an errand to Tilbury on my behalf, please.”
Rainsleigh chuckled. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
The viscount put on his hat. “I’ve been in touch with the Foreign Office about a few of the blaggard’s other schemes—fleecing the Serbians and cheating the Sultan. Apparently both factions will send their own delegation to question him. He should be locked away for a very long time—if he doesn’t lose his head for the Sultan. But just in case, see it through.”
Piety ignored him, searching Trevor’s face. “So it’s true? An act, all of it?”
He nodded. The desire to touch her was more powerful than he’d ever known. He clenched his fists at his sides. “Yes. A great fiction. My part in it, at least. I did not blackmail the viscount, but he agreed to participate in this exchange with Straka and accuse me of it in front of police. He didn’t have to become involved. It was a selfless favor. He is a good man, and I owe him quite a lot.”
“Do stop, Falcondale, or I may blush,” the viscount said. “Take your payment. I’m very rich, or haven’t you heard.” He chuckled. “I hardly require the gratuity of a house.” He tossed him the heavy satchel of money.
Trevor caught it and dropped it in a chair. He had no argument. In fact, there was very little he could say or do in that moment but stare at his wife. The viscount chuckled again and took up his hat and gloves. He mumbled good-bye on the way out the door but did not wait for a reply.
When they were alone, Trevor stepped in front of Piety and reached out. “Piety.”
He ventured a touch to her cheek—one finger, tracing her profile. She did not pull away, and he delicately moved to her uninjured side, down her shoulder, down her arm. He caught her hand and held it.
“You were never meant to see any of this,” he said. “It was meant to happen in Hampstead. In an abandoned bank. There was an elaborate plan.”
“I . . . I wish I’d known. You took years off my life, Trevor. And I’ve only just been assured I have years left to live.”
The Earl Next Door: The Bachelor Lords of London Page 36
