He also had a way of looking at people as if he could see into their souls. Sophia found it incredibly unnerving. She lifted her head to meet his eyes and noticed he was looking at her in that precise way and she suddenly felt annoyed. “Stop looking at me like that,” she snapped, knowing she sounded missish, but unable to help herself.
Lord Coldwell laughed. “I'm looking at you the way I look at everyone.”
“Exactly. I hate it.”
She hadn't realized she'd dropped her gaze again until she felt Lord Coldwell's finger beneath her chin. He tilted her face up towards his and leaned close and magically transformed his penetrating gaze into one that appeared rather seductive. Sophia gasped.
“Is this a better look, little lamb?”
She shook her head vigorously, but he didn't remove his hand from her face.
“Perhaps you'll like this look better then.” Like the actors who performed at the theater on Drury Lane, Lord Coldwell quickly altered his expression, so it reflected longing and desire.
Lady Sophia hated the fact that she was impressed by his abilities. To hide it from him, she placed her hands against his chest and pushed him away from her then gave him her back. “It would appear you've gone into the wrong profession, my lord. You're better suited to being an actor than a spy.”
“Being a spy requires one to be an actor as well. Perhaps that is why I excel so splendidly at it.”
“Don't be a fool. You've only been given these assignments because there is no one else to fill the role.”
Lord Coldwell came up behind her and flipped her around, so her face was mere inches from his. “Little lamb, that's actually why you've been given any assignments at all. There's no other lady in England who would do the things you do.”
He was almost right, but not entirely. “You forget about my aunt.”
“She should never have brought you into this world. It's a dangerous profession,” he said, suddenly turning serious.
“Fortunately for me, you weren't sent here to discuss the dangers or my personal choices. If I remember correctly, you said we have an assignment to work on together.”
“Yes,” he drawled as he reached into the pocket of his dress coat and retrieved a folded missive. Handing it to her he said, “The details of the assignment are inside. I trust you to memorize the information then destroy the missive at once.”
Sophia rolled her eyes. “I'm not an amateur, you know?”
He reached down and tweaked her nose as he laughed. “I forget, half a year in service qualifies one as a professional these days.”
Her face heated with anger. “Why do you always mock me?”
“Because you're so easy to rile up,” he admitted.
“Only by you,” she muttered.
Lord Coldwell folded his arms across his broad chest and leaned casually against the wall. “Yes, I've noticed that, little lamb. Why is that, if you don't mind me asking?”
“Because I find you highly irritating and...”
He cut her off with a wide grin that split his face in two, revealing painfully gorgeous dimples on both cheeks. “Wildly attractive and irresistibly charming?”
She ignored him and continued, “...and I think you're the most conceited man I've ever had the misfortune of meeting.”
“I hope someday you can convince yourself of that, little lamb, before you find yourself falling hard and fast in love with me.”
“I'd sooner give myself up to the French,” she bit out angrily.
“I can assure you that isn't true. I'm much kinder to my enemies than they are. Someday I will prove it to you.”
“The only thing I want you to prove is that you can disappear from my drawing room,” she snapped.
Lord Coldwell smiled once more, completely unaffected by her surliness. “As you wish, little lamb. As you wish.”
Then he disappeared.
Levi sat on the bench in the back room, waiting to be led out to where the crowds were gathered to witness the fight. His stomach was coiled with anticipation, which was normal, but if he was honest, it was also filled with dread.
Something wasn't right, he could feel it in his gut. He tried to dispel the doubt from his mind by rising from the bench and practicing his punches. His fists met with air, a very unsatisfying opponent.
“Your Grace, it's time.”
Levi turned as the young boy came to lead him to the match, relieved that he'd find a distraction from his worry. The crowds were buzzing with excitement as he entered the ring. He couldn't help but smile as he listened to hundreds of people cheer his name loudly.
Glancing across the dusty ring, he caught the first glimpse of his opponent and cringed. Standing directly across from him was Lord Whitworth, glaring at him menacingly. Levi stiffened in anger, wanting badly to put the man in his place, perhaps even kill him so that he could have Lydia. The violent thought startled him, and he quickly dispelled it, knowing it would not prove to be a suitable solution to his problem. Besides, Lydia would probably not even want him after he'd refused her in his carriage.
Levi used all the agony that filled his soul against his opponent. As soon as the match began, he threw himself at Lord Whitworth, delivering a solid blow to his face. Lord Whitworth's head snapped back as droplets of red blood sprayed from his nose. Levi went to hit him again but was caught off guard by a punch to his gut which nearly caused him to double over. Unable to fully catch his breath, Levi was soon assaulted by another hit, this time to his side.
A lock of hair fell across his sweaty forehead, and he knew he could easily fall victim to Lord Whitworth if he didn't act fast. Taking a quick step backward, Levi balled his fists and put them in front of his chest and began hopping from one foot to the other as Lord Whitworth joined him in the dance.
Back and forth they went, neither of them taking their eyes off one another. Levi took the time to focus on thoughts of Lord Whitworth enjoying his husbandly rights with Lydia to fuel his anger. As soon as he saw an opportunity, he struck, catching Lord Whitworth's jaw with his fist, over and over again.
Lord Whitworth stumbled back as an overwhelming anger fueled Levi onward. When he was satisfied that he'd done enough damage to his opponent’s face, Levi began punching his stomach until Lord Whitworth slid to the ground in defeat.
The umpire rushed into the circle and grabbed Levi's hand, holding it high in the air as he declared him the winner. The crowd went wild, their deafening screams making Levi feel overwhelmed. Truth be told, he couldn't even revel in the victory, for the only prize he wanted to win would never be his. In this matter, Lord Whitworth was the true victor.
Levi glanced at the crowds one final time before turning to leave when his gaze settled upon a vaguely familiar face and his pulse began racing angrily. He spun on his heal and cursed as he shouldered his way through the crowds to find the woman he had seen. His gaze roamed angrily through the crowds as he ignored the plethora of people who tried to congratulate him as he went. His focus was intensely on the woman he'd spotted earlier.
With shoulders erect, he glanced above the heads and spotted the woman, one blonde ringlet escaping her cap, giving her away. For a brief moment, the pair made eye contact, but the girl quickly turned away and began running in the opposite direction. Levi picked up his pace and followed her to the back hall that led to the exit.
Just before she was about to escape, he grabbed her by the shoulders and twisted her around. “Lady Sophia, what are you doing here?” he hissed.
“It's none of your concern,” she spat angrily.
“Where is Lydia?” he asked with desperation. “Tell me she did not come with you.”
He watched as fear filled Sophia's blue eyes, her normally calm expression absent. “Oh, that she had.”
The dread that was his constant companion as of late intensified. He gave her shoulders a hardy shake. “What do you mean? Where is Lydia?”
“Of course, you haven't heard.”
“Heard what?”
Several questions sprang to his mind. Levi settled on one. “What do you mean?”
“Her father came to our residence this evening bearing the news. Miss Phelps is not to be found anywhere.”
“Did she run away?”
“I don't know. I came here tonight hoping I would find her here.”
“But you haven't?” he questioned, in a near panic.
Lady Sophia shook her head.
“We must find her at once.” Levi dropped his hands from her shoulders and began heading back the way he'd come, determined to find Lydia and see her safely home.
“Your Grace?” Lady Sophia called out behind him, causing him to halt. “There's something you must know.”
He turned around slowly. “What is that?”
“I have reason to believe Miss Phelps is in grave danger.”
His blood turned cold. “Why do you believe that?”
Lady Sophia averted her gaze once more. Levi rushed to her side, annoyed by her refusal to speak. “Now is not the time to withhold information, Lady Sophia. If you believe Lydia is in harm's way, you must tell me why.”
Levi watched as a war raged on behind her blue eyes. Whatever she had to say, he knew it wouldn't come cheap. “My brother is a criminal.”
She spoke so quietly, Levi wasn't sure he heard her correctly. “Pardon?”
“Gilbert is a criminal.”
“For participating in fights? If that's so, then I'm a criminal as well. What does that have to do with Lydia?”
“Please don't ask me how I know this, just trust me. Gilbert is a dangerous man, and I've reason to believe Lydia is at risk.”
Levi ran one hand angrily through his mussed locks of chestnut hair. “Fiend seize it, you are speaking in riddles, Lady Sophia. If Lydia is in danger, and you know anything about it, you must tell me at once. We will alert the authorities and endeavor to find her before it's too late. Tell me what you know or get out of my way so I can go find her.”
The impassive look Lady Sophia had been trying to maintain finally crumbled as she sobbed, “Please don't tell anyone what I'm about to reveal.”
“I swear it.”
“I've been working as a spy for the crown. They have reason to believe that Gilbert has been involved in a string of kidnappings of young girls. Of course, he's not the only gentleman involved, but it appears he's the ringleader of sorts. Once the girls have been taken, he sells them as prostitutes to line his pockets handsomely. The boxing is just a cover-up.”
All the blood drained from Levi's face. “You think he has taken Lydia?”
“I pray he hasn't, but I can't be certain.”
“Where does he take his victims?”
“I don't know that either.”
“Then what good are you as a spy?” he growled. “Have you no knowledge that will aid me?”
Lady Sophia's hands shook as she reached into her pocket and retrieved a crumpled piece of parchment. “The only clue I have is this,” she thrust the paper towards him. “As soon as Lord Phelps left, I went to Gilbert's bedchamber and searched for any sort of clue. I found this in one of his jacket pockets.”
Levi unfolded the slip of parchment and held it close to his face so he could decipher the writing in the poorly lit hall. “Eighty-Nine Willowby Row. What does it mean?”
“I'm not sure. I think it's an address in the West End. I'm going there tonight to investigate.”
He looked at her queerly. “By yourself?”
“I have protection,” she quipped defensively.
“You're not going,” he said with authority as he refolded the parchment and slid it between his fingers. “I will check it out myself and let you know what I discover.”
“You expect me to sit around and await your word? That's not how I work. I'm coming with you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Levi groaned. “I will not put another lady's safety at risk. You will not be going with me. Go home, Lady Sophia, where you will be safe.”
Lady Sophia jutted her chin out defiantly. “I'm not concerned with my safety. I have a job to do and blast it all, I will do it, with or without your permission.”
“Go home,” he warned, unwilling to give in to her stubbornness. “I refuse to waste any more time arguing with you.”
With that, Levi turned and jogged back towards the crowds, leaving a fuming Lady Sophia behind. As soon as he was dressed in suitable clothing, Levi rushed from the building and called for his carriage. He gave the address to his driver who looked at him as if he'd sprouted an extra head.
“Your Grace, that part of the city is not safe, especially after dark.”
“Your concern is touching, but it will not stop me. Take me there at once, and make haste.”
Levi drummed his fingers against the seat squab, anxious to arrive at his destination. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he didn't find Lydia there, but he held out hope that he would. Though he didn't care much for Lord Whitworth, mostly because he was engaged to Lydia, he was having a hard time believing him to be the vile criminal his sister claimed him to be. Perhaps it wasn't Lord Whitworth with the problems, but Lady Sophia. Maybe she needed to be sent to Bedlam instead of Lord Whitworth to Newgate. But regardless, he knew he couldn't live with himself if he didn't investigate. If Lydia were truly missing, he would find her, no matter how long he'd have to search.
It felt like an hour later, not just a quarter of an hour when his carriage finally pulled to a stop. A footman hopped down from his perch and opened the carriage door. “We've arrived at your destination, Your Grace.”
Levi looked out the door, past the footman, and stared at a dark, empty looking warehouse near the docks of the River Thames. “Are you sure this is the right address?”
“Positive, Your Grace.”
Disappointment filled his breast, but he squashed it down and alighted from the carriage. “Wait for me; I shouldn't be long.”
“You can't mean to go inside, Your Grace. It wouldn't be wise. Get back in the carriage and allow us to take you safely home.”
“Wait for me,” he said with finality as he disappeared into the black shadows of the night.
Levi's fists balled at his sides as he walked, the only sound the loud crunching of the gravel beneath his boots. He approached the dilapidated brick building and ran his fingers along the bolted-up door. Reaching forth, he gave the door a hearty shake, but it didn't budge. Leaning close, he placed his ear against the wood and listened for noises behind it, but didn't hear a sound.
Pulling his jacket tightly around him, he turned the corner and began quickly searching the building. It wasn't until he reached the back of the building, facing an alley, that he noticed a window high up. The glass had been shattered, leaving an opening. There was no way he could scale the brick wall and reach the window. Glancing around, he noticed a pile of crates lying discarded in the alley. Feeling optimistic, he ran and retrieved several of them and stacked them high up against the wall.
His legs shook beneath him as he climbed upon the wobbly crates. For a moment, he envisioned himself falling and breaking a leg, but his concern for Lydia propelled him onward. As soon as he reached the top crate, he carefully raised his arms and gripped the cement windowsill. Using all of his strength, he hoisted himself up and glanced inside the dark building. From the faint light of the moon, he could make out a bunch of discarded papers and bottles littering the room, but not much else.
Feeling dejected, he was about to lower himself to the crates below when he saw the shadowy glimmer of candlelight flicker beneath the closed door then quickly disappear. Someone was in the warehouse.
Hoisting himself up upon the sill, Levi shimmied through the broken glass, feeling a sharp point slice into his side as he did so. He cursed beneath his breath as he slid to the filthy ground below and quickly tugged his shirt from his breeches to check on his injury. Dark blood dripped f
rom the cut, but Levi had no time to be concerned with himself. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at the blood then quickly dropped his shirt back into place and went to find out what was going on in the creepy warehouse. If Lydia was there, he vowed he would find her.
Sophia took a deep breath to help bolster her confidence before shouldering her way into White's. Still dressed as a boy, she hoped to be granted entrance, but in her understated clothing, she stuck out painfully among the finer clothed gentleman of the ton.
She tried to slide past the attendant at the entrance but was not successful. He reached out and quickly grabbed her by the collar and pulled her to a halt.
“What's going on here, sir? Have you been granted membership to the club?”
Of course, she hadn't, but she decided to lie. “Yes.”
The attendant's eyes narrowed into skeptical slits. “No, you haven't,” he replied firmly.
Sophia's shoulders slumped. “I'm looking for Lord Coldwell. I have an urgent message to deliver.”
Sticking out his hand, the attendant said, “Give it to me, and I'll have it delivered.”
She felt foolish once more. “I don't have it written down, sir; it's in my head.”
The attendant groaned. “I should have you thrown out of here.”
“But sir, I can assure you that wouldn't be wise. I must speak to Lord Coldwell at once. It's a matter of life or death.”
The man's round face broke into a grin. “Oh, is that so?”
“It's not a laughing matter, sir. Please,” she began to plead in a way she knew was unbecoming of a man, “I need to speak to him at once. As soon as I've delivered my message, I promise I will leave.”
Huffing impatiently, the man finally said, “Wait here. I will inform Lord Coldwell you're expecting him. If he refuses to come out, you must leave at once. No more begging.”
Sophia smiled victoriously. “Of course.”
The Duke's Dastardly Mistake (Unlikely Pairs Book 2) Page 12
