Duke Du Jour

by Petie McCarty

Go to her home

  and await further instructions.

  A half hour later, the three still waited, Jared now idly scratching Harry’s ears as the dog leaned against Jared’s wing chair.

  “We cannot just sit here and twiddle our thumbs,” he complained.

  Dexter put a hand on his arm. “Easy.”

  The butler appeared at the door.

  “What is it, Conrad?” the viscountess asked before the man could speak.

  “A Bow Street Runner—a Mr. Clive Herford—and another gentleman are here to see His Grace,” Conrad announced as he strode into the library but kept his eyes on Ari’s aunt.

  Lady Morton had informed her most trusted servant of the situation upon their arrival, and the stodgy butler had been unusually solicitous ever since.

  “The gentleman accompanying the runner was here yesterday with His Grace.”

  “That would be my brother,” Jared said.

  “Brother?” Lady Morton turned her attention to him. “I didn’t know you had one.”

  “Well, I do. Bullen stays at Haverly for the most part and runs the estate for me.”

  “I see.”

  If Wakefield had told his sister about Jared’s bastard brother, the dear lady was not about to give anything away. Jared could almost forgive her for taking Ari to the Marsden ball. Almost.

  “Show them both in,” he ordered her butler.

  Herford and Bullen appeared at the door moments later, and Jared rose to his feet to make the appropriate introductions. “Lady Morton, may I present my brother Bullen and Clive Herford, agent in charge of our Bow Street Runners.”

  Both men sketched an appropriate bow to the viscountess.

  Lady Morton stared at Bullen. “You’re a footman? I thought you were Reston’s brother.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “I am. I worked undercover this evening to keep a lookout on Marsden’s mews for anyone who did not belong.”

  “Oh my.”

  “Have a seat, Herford,” Jared said.

  The runner eyed the massive wolfhound.

  “Harry is fine,” Jared told him. “He won’t hurt you.”

  Bullen had come to stand by his brother, and the wolfhound greeted him happily. Jared looked pointedly at the butler. “You, too, Conrad. Come in and close the door behind you.”

  The startled butler did as instructed but remained standing near the door.

  “So, where are we?” Jared demanded of Herford.

  “The guard we placed here has seen no unusual comings or goings, no strangers lurking about,” the runner said. “I have placed two additional men here on surveillance.”

  “If there was no one about, how did the kidnappers know Ariana was at the Marsden ball?” Lady Morton wanted to know. “Your man would have noticed someone following our carriage.”

  “Correct,” he answered without hesitation. “Did Lady Ariana have a lady’s maid? And if so, I would like to speak with her. I want to ask if Lady Ariana may have said anything or noticed anyone watching her. The maid may have noticed if Lady Ariana was acting unusual.”

  “Like she expected this?” Jared asked.

  “Possibly.”

  “But the maid would have no idea if Ariana was acting strangely,” the viscountess objected, “and Ari certainly would not confide in the girl. The maid was new. I only hired her yesterday. My niece was in immediate need of a maid for this unexpected stay in London.”

  “It will not hurt to question her, my lady,” Herford said.

  Felicity gave one quick nod to Conrad, and the butler left the library. Back in minutes, the man looked bereft.

  Lady Morton peered around him. “Where is Alice?”

  “Gone, my lady,” Conrad said hoarsely.

  “What do you mean gone?”

  “Gone, as in packed up and left. I checked with Mary, the upstairs maid whom Alice shared a room with, and Mary said she packed up without a word only minutes after you left for the Marsden’s ball.”

  Dexter nodded to his Bow Street Runner. “I believe we have just discovered how the kidnappers knew where to find Lady Ariana.”

  “I agree,” Herford said.

  “Oh, dear Lord! I hired that wretched woman. Ari didn’t like her very much, but I hired her anyway. This is all my fault.”

  “Nonsense, my lady.” Jared went to the viscountess, placed a hand on her shoulder “There is no way you could have known.”

  “He’s right,” Dexter agreed.

  “What do we do now?” Jared asked Herford.

  “We wait.”

  “The hell we do!” Jared shouted. “If you think I’m going to sit around and twiddle my thumbs, you’re daft. I have done that for the last three hours, and I am already going crazy.”

  “We have done all we can for now,” Herford insisted. “I put extra men here and at the Reston townhouse. Bullen and I interrogated a dozen or more servants and stable lads at the Marsden mansion. No one saw anything out of the ordinary. Major Thorpe and one of my runners are still there questioning the last of the servants. They will report back shortly.”

  “Conrad, would you call for tea?” Lady Morton instructed the butler. “I believe we all could use a calming cup.”

  “Or something stronger,” Dexter muttered.

  Lady Morton inclined her head toward the side hutch. “The brandy is there. Help yourself, my lord.”

  Bullen poured brandy into two glasses and handed one to Jared.

  He waved it off. “I don’t want it.”

  “Drink it!” Bullen shoved the glass at Jared. “This will settle your nerves.”

  With a glare, Jared threw back the whole tot at one time and felt the burn all the way down his throat.

  “He said settle your nerves, not paralyze them,” Dexter drawled, as he poured himself a glass.

  A knock at the door heralded Thorpe joining their midst.

  “Anything?” Jared asked.

  “We found a stable lad who was walking Lady Marsden’s colicky mare about the back garden during the ball. He spied a carriage parked in the passage between the townhouses, at the entrance the gardeners use.” Thorpe exhaled hard. “He spotted two women and three men near the carriage. Said at least one of the men sounded like a Frenchie.”

  “Good God! It was them,” Dexter exclaimed.

  “And the women?”

  Thorpe sighed. “He said he could not be sure, but he thought two of the men were holding onto one of the women.”

  “Why the devil didn’t he say something to someone?” Jared thundered. Harry bounded to his feet and eyed his master warily.

  “I asked him that very question. He said he sees all sorts of strange things in the garden during Marsden balls, and the servants all know to keep to themselves during parties, so he didn’t think too much of it.”

  “Bloody hell! Did he at least see a crest on the carriage?” Jared demanded. His hands curled into fists, and the wolfhound whimpered.

  “The lad said no, thought the doors had been blacked and the window curtains had been drawn,” Thorpe said calmly. “And before you ask, he didn’t see which way the carriage went either. He continued walking the sick mare.”

  Jared turned to Dexter. “Two women.”

  “And Lucilla disappeared from the ball,” came the earl’s grim reply.

  “I’ll strangle her myself,” Jared promised, “if anything happens to Ari.”

  If anyone noted his familiar use of her name, no one remarked on it this time. All anyone was concerned with at that moment was the note carried in by a footman who said he’d found it slipped under the front door.

  Jared’s instructions had arrived.

  ****

  Ari didn’t know which was worse, being kidnapped by Jared’s assassins or being blinded by the filthy kerchief over her eyes. She tried to remember how many right and left turns the carriage made but gave up when the coachman was forced to turn around twice to avoid overturned carts, or so the man had called out. Though blindfolded, she was
fairly certain only Lucilla shared the coach’s interior with her, and Ari would die before she let her long-time nemesis see her fear.

  “You shall not get away with this,” she snapped at Lucilla.

  An amused chortle sounded from the seat across. “Not me. He. And I believe he already has.”

  “He who? Who are you talking about?”

  She almost said Dawson but caught herself in time. Bad enough the man knew she could identify his face, but if he realized she knew his name too, he would kill her for certain.

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  The carriage lurched forward as the coachman whipped the horses.

  “Then why not tell me?”

  “Are you scared?”

  Ari hated the smug tone in the witch’s voice. “Of course not.”

  The chortle sounded again, and Ari clenched her bound hands into fists. The carriage took a wild turn, and she had to fight to remain on her seat.

  “Come now, admit it. You’re scared out of your wits.”

  “I am not.”

  One more unexpected turn pitched Ari forward. She tried to stay in her seat but lost her balance.

  “Get off me!” Lucilla hissed and shoved her hard onto the cushion. Ari’s head banged against the front wall of the coach, and Lucilla laughed.

  “My aunt will send someone to rescue me. Maybe the night watchmen or the Bow Street Runners.”

  “We’re counting on her sending Jared.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You cannot think it was you we wanted,” she sneered. “You were merely the bait. You conveniently got yourself caught, and now we shall capture Jared. We addressed your rescue instructions to Jared at your aunt’s house.”

  “No!”

  Lucilla laughed wildly.

  Ari could feel her tears leaking into the filthy kerchief and was suddenly thankful for the horrible blindfold. She had succeeded in signing Jared’s death warrant. Maybe he wouldn’t come after her. She knew the lie of it before she completed the thought. When Jared came after her, the highwaymen would execute him. And it would be all her fault, all because she had been jealous when she saw Jared with Lucilla. She could not let them win; she had to do something.

  “I thought you cared about him,” Ari pushed.

  “I care about any man who can give me what I want. But I just don’t trust any man. I learned that lesson a long time ago.”

  “So you betrayed Jared.”

  “He would have to be mine for me to betray him, and he was never mine.” Her voice turned ugly. “Though not for lack of trying.”

  “He didn’t want you?” Ari taunted.

  Crack! The slap came swift and hard and knocked her sideways in the seat.

  “That was for getting in the way,” Lucilla hissed. “Both times.”

  Ari tasted the coppery flavor of blood on her lip but refused to back down. If she did, she would cry, and she would die before she let Lucilla Tartley see her cry.

  “Both?”

  She sensed the woman raising her arm, but Lucilla didn’t strike her. Instead, Ari heard a resigned sigh.

  “I used to catch him watching you when you were just a young hoyden running about the county. He would always deny it, but I knew that look.” Lucilla’s voice held no inflection or emotion. “And when he returned from the continent, he only had eyes for you, but by then it was too late.”

  “What do you mean too late?”

  “Plans had already been set in motion and could not be stopped.”

  “Plans? What plans? Tell me,” Ari cried.

  The carriage lurched to a halt, and she fell back against the squabs.

  “You’ll see soon enough.” Lucilla’s smug tone resurfaced.

  The carriage door flew open, and Ari heard the steps lowered. A beefy hand latched onto her arm and yanked. She would have fallen through the carriage door and down the steps if Lucilla had not latched onto her other arm to steady her.

  “Careful, you lout!” Lucilla admonished.

  “Who do you call a lout?” a deep voice rumbled.

  Ari recognized the French accent of the oversized captor at the Marsden’s ball. He jerked her down the steps but held her upright. She heard the creak of a door, and her captor dragged her a few strides forward. Through her torn and dampened ball slippers, she felt the change from dirt to a hardwood floor as they stepped over a threshold. Even from behind the grimy blindfold, Ari could tell the structure had some illumination.

  “Henri, bring thees girl closer.”

  A new voice. French accent.

  “And take that ridiculous blindfold off, so I may have a better look at our leetle beauty.”

  Henri’s beefy hand stripped away the blindfold, and a dozen hairs came with it. Ari fought back a wince. She refused to show pain or fear.

  “Whose idea was that blindfold, anyway?”

  “My idea,” Lucilla said, coming up behind her.

  “Well, mon amie, what a beautiful leetle treat you have brought to moi.”

  After the pitch-black darkness of the kerchief, Ari had to blink a few times from the light of several lanterns in the room. Once her vision focused, she could see the owner of the new French accent in front of her. A few inches shorter than Jared, he more than made up for it with his muscular physique. The man was equally handsome—black hair, swarthy complexion, and a sensual smile he turned on Ari. She stifled the shudder rippling along her spine.

  “Allow me to introduce myself.” His smile widened and exposed straight white teeth. “I am Jean-Claude Bellevere, Comte Roulet.”

  Comte? This must be Jared’s French spy!

  Bellevere turned to Lucilla, and his smile faded. “Why do you cover her beautiful eyes? You do not want her to see me? Or you do not want me to get a man’s look at her?”

  Lucilla glared her displeasure. “I did not want her to see where we were going. She could lead Bow Street Runners back here after we release her.”

  “Release her?” He turned back to Ari, and the smile reformed. “When thees is all over, we will have no more need of la belle jeune femme, so it matters not that she sees her jailer or her jail.”

  The smile turned deviant, and Ari’s blood ran cold.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Dear Lord, Bishopsgate Street is in Spitalfields!” Lady Morton gasped. “It is not safe there.”

  The kidnappers’ note had been short and to the point. Directions to a meeting place on the edge of Spitalfields, a meeting time of one hour before dawn, and two succinct sentences.

  Do not be late

  Reston comes alone or the lady dies.

  “That was the site of all the weaver’s riots, correct?” Jared asked Dexter, who gaped at him.

  “It amazes me the odd things you remember amongst the wealth of things you forgot.”

  Jared didn’t like what he remembered of the weaver’s riots of 1816. A mob of thirty thousand had broken into shops and homes.

  “Forget that. Why take Ariana to Spitalfields?”

  “If there is any shooting or a disturbance, there is little chance of any witnesses,” Dexter said grimly. “Blokes there will turn a blind eye. Will not help any outsiders.”

  “We are on our own then?”

  “Precisely. Which is why we need a plan. We cannot go charging in there like the cavalry.”

  “Agreed.”

  “What about Wellington?” Thorpe asked. “With these spies on the loose, he’s a target. Ought someone to warn him?”

  Dexter gave the soldier a long considering stare. “He is at Carlton House with Prinny. No one can get to him there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, the War Office sent him orders to return to the continent in a couple days until this new threat can be caught and removed. He will be under heavy guard until he leaves. Wellington was not happy about it.”

  “I don’t suppose he was.” Thorpe grinned. “He likes to give the orders, not take them.”

  “
Right.”

  “How fast can you get to Spitalfields?” Jared asked Thorpe.

  “Faster than any man here, save for you,” he replied solemnly.

  “You know where we are going,” Dexter said. “Get there first and get the lay of the land. We need to know what we are riding into. The kidnappers’ security will not be as tight until Reston gets close. Meet us at the White Hart tavern on Bishopsgate Street about a quarter mile from the location Reston was given to meet the kidnappers.”

  Collins stepped forward. “Let me redeem m’self, Yer Grace,” he begged. “Let me go with the major, please? I know me ways around Spitalfields. Grew up there, I did.”

  “I convinced him there are better ways to repay a loan than the one he chose,” Bullen said, stepping alongside the now-reformed highwayman. “He works for you now, brother.”

  Jared’s gaze sharpened. Bullen had never called him brother. He glanced at Dexter. The earl shrugged.

  Jared laid a hand on Bullen’s shoulder. “So be it. If you say I can trust Collins, then I will.” To Collins, he said, “Find your way inside, and wait for a signal from us, then create a disturbance.”

  “What kind of signal?”

  “How should I know? I’m making this up as I go. You will know it when you get it.”

  The man nodded.

  “Oh, and Collins…” Jared waited until the man looked him in the eye. “If you betray us and cause harm to fall to Lady Ariana, there is no place on this earth you can hide from me.”

  “Or his brother,” Bullen growled.

  Collins nodded solemnly and headed for the stable.

  Thorpe clapped Jared on the shoulder, said, “Take care of yourself, Reston,” and followed Collins outside.

  “You seem to be quite familiar with Spitalfields,” Jared said to Dexter.

  “Let’s just say it is one of my hunting grounds for informants. Now, for our plan.”

  “I don’t like all these men going along,” Jared murmured. “If the kidnappers suspect I have brought anyone with me, they will kill Lady Ariana.”

  “And if you don’t have someone to watch your back, they will kill the both of you,” Dexter retorted.

  “They don’t intend to release Ariana, do they?” Lady Morton asked, her face ashen.

  Dexter turned to the viscountess, and knowing her to be no weak little flower, he said as gently as he could, “No, madam, they do not. Lady Ariana knows too much at this point.”