But it wouldn't work. The man who had loved her was mercifully gone. He removed her hands as if they made his flesh creep.
"I've no doubt. If mistresses of the manor are cruel and cold and hard, then you would be the queen of them all." His eyes glittered like the first frost upon the trees in winter as he suddenly gripped her hand and pulled it behind her back. He was tired of the games that she was wont to play. "Where is she?"
Though Vanessa winced, she looked up at him in innocence. "She?"
For a tuppence, he would have broken her arm. But that wouldn't have told him what he needed to know. "Don't play games with me, Vanessa. Where's Rachel?"
"Did your chit run off? Poor darling," she cooed, raising up on her toes. Her hand splayed across his chest, she murmured against his mouth, "Let me make you forget all about her."
He released her arm before he gave in to the temptation to hurt her. With an oath, he pushed her aside.
Vanessa stumbled backward, her back hitting the wall. She stared at Sin-Jin, surprised and aroused by the display of anger. He was like a beast that needed taming, she thought.
Sin-Jin's nostrils flared as temper filled every fiber of his body. "The innkeeper said the messenger you sent with news of my brother's death took her."
"Simeon?" She shrugged innocently. "I've no idea what the man does on his own time." Her smile was malicious. "Perhaps he took a fancy to her. They would seem to be cut from the same cheap cloth."
All his restraint, all his good breeding dissolved and something dark merged, flashing in his eyes. He bracketed her head between his hands. They both knew he could crush it in a moment of pure fury.
"Tell me where she is." His voice was hardly a whisper as it echoed in her brain.
Her heart hammered in her chest. "I have no idea where she is," she insisted hotly. "Damn you, forget about that harlot. It's me you want." Her fingers clawed at his shirt, even as he held her prisoner. "It's me you desire. Why else would you have left on my wedding day?"
Was that the way she had interpreted it? He threw her away from him in disgust and she fell to the floor. "I was a second son. I had no source of income," he reminded her needlessly. "I was a soldier in the army and the army was being sent to America. I had no choice."
Vanessa scrambled up to her feet. He took a step toward her and she backed away.
"Now tell me where she is or by God I'll kill you where you stand."
She knew he meant it. But she had ventured too far now to be intimidated. Vanessa raised her head defiantly. "I tell you, I don't know." She settled on a half truth to buy her a little time. She needed to think. "I just told Simeon to get rid of her. I thought, once she was gone, that you—"
He'd heard enough. More than enough. It should have sealed her death warrant, but he had no time to waste on her. "Where is he?"
She looked down at her nails as if there was something of vast importance to be seen there. "I discharged him," she said easily.
"I don't believe you."
Vanessa looked at Sin-Jin contemptuously, as if he was a fool not to trust her. "I gave him a sum of money, more than I should, and told him once he delivered the message and took the whore, he was free to do what he wished, where he wished with whomever he wished." She enunciated the sentence with great care. "His actions no longer concerned me."
Perhaps she was finally telling him the truth. It sounded like her heartless reasoning. "Where does he live?"
She stared at him as if he had asked her if she would run naked through the servants' quarters. "How should I know? In London, perhaps." It was more than fifty kilometers away. Too far for Sin-Jin to ride off to, she reasoned.
When he turned and walked away from her, she hurried after him, stunned. "Where are you going?"
He didn't even bother to turn around as he left the room. "To find him."
She was shocked. Sin-Jin was actually walking out on her. He actually preferred that Irish harlot to her. "Sin-Jin-—" Her voice commanded his return.
Sin-Jin stopped and slowly turned around to face her. The look in his eyes was malevolent. "If anything has happened to her because of you—"
"What? You'll what?" Vanessa challenged, but she kept her distance.
He had voiced his threat once. There was no need to repeat it. "I think you already know."
Vanessa stood, shaken down to the very core of her being. She listened to the sound of his footsteps as they echoed away from her in the hall and cursed his soul.
An evil smile lit her face she glanced down at her feet and envisioned the dark, airless cellar. And the occupant who languished there.
One way or the other, she would have her revenge.
Chapter Forty
It was dank where she was. Dank and it smelled of horrid, foul things. Rotting things. And there were noises. Terrifying noises. Tiny, scurrying feet and high-pitched squeaks.
Terror clawed at Rachel's throat like a frightened, trapped animal.
She couldn't see, which made the faint sounds that much more horrifying. Her imagination spawned the most vicious of terrors. Her very flesh crawled.
Rachel's hands had been bound tightly behind her with a thick, rough rope that cut into her flesh. Her ankles were tied together as well and a blindfold was wrapped securely over her eyes. A filthy rag was shoved so far down into her mouth, she had nearly choked at first. A larger rag was tied over it to stifle her cries.
Panic bubbled within her breast like an indoor spring bubbling within a cave. It threatened to overpower her and make her mad.
Something was crawling on her. Rachel jerked spasmodically. Tears wet her blindfold. She had no idea
where she was, or who had brought her here or why. She was hungry and tired and terribly, terribly frightened.
Her resolve broke and she gave way to sobs. They wracked her body. She shook uncontrollably. Instinctively, Rachel began to rock to and fro, vainly attempting to comfort herself.
Think, Rachel, think. Being frightened isn't going to be doing you any good. You've got to think. You've got to get out of here.
But where was "here?"
She had to get free of the ropes.
Shutting out the wretched noises and concentrating only on the ropes at her wrist, she twisted and turned her hands over and over again, trying desperately to loosen them. They held fast, too securely tied for her to work her hands free.
She could feel the ropes cutting further into her tender skin. She felt the sickening trickle of blood oozing from her raw flesh. Rachel shuddered, sweat dripping down her shoulder blades and pooling at the base of her spine. But she couldn't stop trying to break free of the binds.
To stop, she knew, would have meant to surrender. And possibly to die.
Over and over she repeated a fragment of a prayer.
The squeal of the rodents drew closer, echoing in her brain as Rachel worked frantically, methodically at the ropes.
Duncan Fitzhugh shook his head. He had been watching a young cutpurse ply his trade for several minutes now. He was rather good at it. Duncan judged the youth to be just a little past a score in age. The cutpurse was smiling as he meandered, deceptively vague, through the crowd that had gathered to watch the puppet show. His hands were as quick as the flutter of a butterfly's wings.
Duncan sighed. He supposed there was a fine line between the cutpurse's trade and what he himself did for a living. After all, thieves had a right to exist as well, otherwise there would be no color in this world.
Still, Duncan considered, the old man the youth had just relieved of his pouch looked to be no better off than the cutpurse was. Worse, perhaps. Fair was fair and foul was foul.
Taking a breath, Duncan deliberately launched himself into the crowd and stumbled against the cutpurse. The vacant, amiable expression vanished immediately. Alert, sharp green eyes darted toward the tawny-haired man.
"Oh, I do beg your pardon," Duncan apologized. "Why, look here." Duncan's rugged face was an innocent portrait of surprise as h
e held aloft the prize his nimble fingers had secured only moments ago from the cutpurse's possession. He bowed graciously to the cutpurse's mark. "Did you by chance lose this, fine sir?"
The elderly man who had been completely involved with the performance looked confused as he stared at what Duncan was holding in his hand. He immediately spanned sausage-like fingers over his waist and blanched when he found nothing. His eyes opened wide, like two fried eggs upon a skillet. "Why, yes."
Duncan nodded. "I thought as much." He gestured grandly at the cutpurse. The crowd had now turned its attention from the puppet that was beating Judy about the head and shoulders and was gathering around Duncan and the other two. "This fine young gentleman found it. Lying here idly on the floor it was. I saw him pick it up for you."
Whistling, Duncan eased his way from the center of the crowd, leaving the cutpurse to receive words of heartfelt gratitude from the old man.
It was a fair enough exchange, Duncan mused. The cutpurse had lost a meager purse, but gained the temporary right to be a hero.
"Why did you do that?"
Duncan turned, startled at the sound of the familiar voice. He couldn't place it immediately as he looked around him.
The white teeth flashed in a broad smile the next instant as he recognized Sin-Jin.
"Ah," Duncan bowed with a flourish that called to mind his departure from The Charleston months ago. "The savior of the merchant ship. You made it to shore. But this isn't France." Duncan scanned the perimeter of the nearby streets. Sin-Jin was apparently alone. "And where is your beautiful lady?"
They were standing near an alleyway in one of the worse sections of London. After leaving Vanessa, Sin-Jin had searched the manor for Burns or any of the other servants who he knew from his years at Shallot. They were all gone, dismissed by Vanessa upon their master's death he'd been told by the stable hand. None of the other servants knew where any of the dismissed lot had been bound for. They knew less about Simeon.
Or if they knew, Sin-Jin mused, they were afraid to tell him.
He had ridden posthaste for London nurturing the slim hope that Vanessa had been telling the truth about the thug's whereabouts. He had found nothing and lost a day doing it.
But he felt up to discussing none of this. Desperation had robbed him of social graces.
"I'm in England because my brother, Alfred died several weeks ago." His mouth set grimly and Duncan knew the tale darkened even more. "And as to Rachel, I don't know where she is."
Duncan crossed his arms before him and studied Sin-Jin, attempting to ascertain if the man had the look of a deserted lover about him. The verdict was uncertain. "Ran off, did she?"
An exasperated sigh escaped Sin-Jin's lips. "Was taken off is the truth of it."
Duncan peered into Sin-Jin's eyes. Yes, there was deep concern there, not the look of angry hurt the way he had first surmised. "Taken?' The word resounded with keen interest.
Sin-Jin nodded. His inability to find so much as a trace of either Rachel or Simeon rankled him. "It's a long story."
Duncan spread his hands before him, his smile inviting. "As fate would have it, I have a long afternoon to spare. Come, my friend, you've the look of a man in need of liquid libation." Duncan threw his arm around Sin-Jin's shoulder in the manner of old friends. "You do, of course, have the funds for it."
Sin-Jin shook his head, amused despite the situation that occupied every waking moment of his existence. Instinctively, his hand reached for his purse and he covered it protectively. "I do." .
Duncan nodded at the other man's gesture. "You needn't worry. I don't steal from friends. I do, however," his teeth flashed again, "allow them to give me things from time to time." With renewed purpose, Duncan steered Sin-Jin toward the Boar's Head, a fine tavern where the liquor was good and the women not.
"Answer something for me," Sin-Jin said as they entered the noisy establishment.
Duncan indicated a table in the corner. It suited his purpose to keep a wall at his back and his eyes on the door. "If I can," he said, sitting down.
"Why did you return that man's purse to him?" Sin-Jin gestured toward a barmaid. The woman, her face covered with a thick coat of face paint that made her more garish than attractive, hurried over. "Two ales," Sin-Jin ordered, glancing at Duncan.
The latter nodded his assent. Duncan shrugged carelessly in reply to the question. "He had the look of a grandfather about him. A poor one."
Sin-Jin leaned back in the chair, regarding the other man. He did have a conscience after all. "So you only rob from the rich?"
"Something like that." Duncan laughed. "Though that sounds far too noble for the likes of me. I'm not Robin Hood, you know."
The ales arrived and Duncan took a liberal drink from his tankard before leaning forward. He wrapped two hands around the tankard's base, then glanced up at Sin-Jin. His look was patient. "So, tell me your tale of woe."
As succinctly as he could, Sin-Jin gave Duncan a brief narrative of the events of the last month or so. He left nothing of import out, including Vanessa's nocturnal visit to his room.
Duncan listened to it all quietly without comment. His attention only wandered once when he nodded at a young, pretty barmaid as she passed. He gave her well-formed bottom a pat, then shifted his eyes to Sin-Jin once more.
When Sin-Jin was finally done with his story, Duncan said nothing for a long moment. He thoughtfully studied the inside of his tankard, which was almost empty, as if he expected to see something materialize there.
Impatient, Sin-Jin drew his chair forward, scrapping it along the scarred, uneven floor. "Well?" he asked.
Duncan raised his eyes to Sin-Jin's, waiting for the rest of the question.
He supposed it was a sign of his desperation that he expected Duncan to be able to tell him something that would help him in his search. Perhaps even make Rachel appear somewhere close by like a sorcerer conjuring up a woman out of vapor and air. He sighed heavily.
The emotion behind the sigh was not lost on Duncan. "So you believe that this Simeon has her?"
Sin-Jin had nothing else to go on. He spread his hands helplessly. "It's what Vanessa said."
Duncan's mouth quirked cynically. He had run into his share of Vanessas, lovely women with no souls and the sting of an asp. "And she, of course, is the soul of truth and virtue."
Sin-Jin looked at Duncan, annoyed. The man echoed the growing pessimism of his own thoughts. Each time he thought he knew the depth of Vanessa's depravity, he found that he was woefully underestimating her. Adulteress, kidnapper, there seemed to be no end to the blackness of her soul.
He was wasting his time here, Sin-Jin thought, anxious to resume searching. He threw down a shilling and began to rise. "I have nothing else to go on."
Duncan's hand clasped around Sin-Jin's wrist like iron cuffs, holding him in place. Sin-Jin was surprised at the strength he felt in the long, elegant fingers. "If she lied about loving a man, she could easily lie about the way she rid herself of her beloved's intended."
Sin-Jin's mouth twisted into a snarl, but he sat down again. "I am not her beloved."
The broad shoulders lifted and fell. "From what you tell me, I think Vanessa would beg to differ with that assessment." He beckoned the barmaid over, holding his tankard aloft. "But London is as good a place to begin as any in our search. We need to look into all alleys on this matter."
It was what he had initially hoped, but the actual offer surprised Sin-Jin. "You'll help me?"
Duncan raised his brow. Why else did Sin-Jin think he had accompanied him here? "Of course."
There was no money in it. At least, they hadn't spoken of any. Purity of spirit did not seem to be Duncan's calling, though he had seen him return the old man's purse. "Why?"
It seemed obvious to Duncan. He smiled as he accepted a refreshed tankard from the barmaid, who giggled and retreated, seductively swaying her hips.
"I owe you. You spared me when you didn't have to." Duncan took a deep, long pull, then set
the tankard down. "You could have just as easily run me through."
Sin-Jin shook his head. The laugh was mirthless. "And taken my chances with your men? We were outnumbered three to one. And mine hardly knew one end of a sword from the other."
Duncan smiled as he cradled the tankard in his hands. "A compassionate man and a wise one. A rare man, one not to be discarded." His eyes skimmed over Sin-Jin and his tone softened. "One to be regarded as a friend."
Moving the tankard to one side, Duncan put his hand out to Sin-Jin. Sin-Jin took it and a bond was formed.
Duncan's smile grew as his hand tightened around Sin-Jin's. He was scarcely ever wrong in his estimation of a man.
"What do we do first?"
In reply, Duncan took another drink of his ale. The tankard echoed as it hit the wooden table.
"There's very little that goes on in London that I don't hear, one way or another." He tossed back his head and drained the remainder of the tankard as Sin-Jin watched in fascination.
Finished, Duncan blew out a long, pungent breath. He was not drunk or anywhere close to that condition. Only revitalized. "To the business at hand," he announced, rising. Sin-Jin was quick to join him as Duncan strode out the door.
The latter threw his arm around Sin-Jin's shoulders as they walked down the street. "I have a fine network of friends," Duncan told him. "Someone must have heard or seen something that will lead us to fair Rachel."
Within a day's time, Duncan's network of privateers had led them to Simeon's father's door. The battered, gnarled old man lived within the tavern that he swept out nightly in exchange for a pallet in the storeroom and two meager meals a day.
Wary, distrustful, the old man at first refused to speak to them. Silver crossing his palm changed his mind. Slipping the coins into a pouch he wore on a chain inside his filthy shirt, the old man swore upon his late wife's grave that his son had not been to see him in over a fortnight. As far as he knew, Simeon still lived at Shallot, a faithful, enamored minion of the woman he served.
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