by Alyson Chase
Julius had been wrong. Not everything was useful. “You just described over half the men in London. Anything distinctive about him?”
“No.” Audley shifted in his chair. “Except for the scars, of course.”
Leaning forward, Julius gripped his fists to keep from throttling the young man. “What scars?”
Audley shrugged. “Little craters that cover his neck and cheeks. Pox I guess.” He downed the last gulp of brandy. “He frequents a coffeehouse in Covent Garden. I have my grooms follow him after he leaves my house. The man always loses them after that point.”
“Why did you not lead with this information?” Julius asked, exasperated. This was why he preferred espionage to investigations. People never told him what he wanted to hear when he wanted to hear it. “Anything else? The name of the head blackmailer you’ve forgotten to tell me? His home address?”
Audley’s eyebrows drew together. “No. If I knew that we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Before Julius could explain the concept of sarcasm, Audley continued. “But you may want to speak with Martin Dawnley. He was a clerk in the Court of Chancery and another victim of blackmail. He paid even when he had no money, and now England provides his keep in debtor’s prison.”
Julius rubbed his temple. “How do you know he was blackmailed?”
“I came to know him casually when I helped my aunt with her husband’s estate. Dawnley came to me for a loan.” Audley snorted. “I refused. Told him he needed to man up and face the consequences of his actions. This was before I was approached by the blackmailer, of course.”
“Of course.” Julius laid down his brandy and cigar and stood.
“Don’t you want to know what they’re blackmailing me for?” Audley stared at his boots.
“No.” Julius eyed the young man, his lowered shoulders, his tired eyes. If the kid had attained the age of one and twenty, Julius would be surprised. Too young to have to deal with such a threat. At that age, Julius had just joined the military, eager for the adventures life would provide. Still ignorant of life’s harsher realities.
He’d learned quickly. In the three years he’d been a prisoner of a local warlord, he’d discovered the depravity of human nature and his own limits on how much suffering he could endure. His two older brothers had died while he’d been captive, and it was their deaths that had saved his life. Their lives for his. It had been a poor trade-off.
Audley looked up, a hint of desperation crossing his face. “They want more than blunt now. They want something I can’t give. My father would never—” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands. “I don’t influence my father.”
“And that’s what they really want.” Julius drummed his fingers against his thigh. He quite wanted to meet these bastards.
Audley dug his fingers into his scalp. “But if I don’t get my father to convince Prinny, I’ll be hanged. I don’t see a way out of this for me.”
“You might not see it, but there is always a way out.” Julius laid a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed. “Why would you hang?”
“It’s the law. Men like me don’t deserve to live apparently.”
“Ah.” So those were the types of clubs the young lord patronized. It wasn’t unheard of for a man to visit a molly-house. Most in Polite Society preferred to turn a blind eye. But it was still dangerous, at least for men without Audley’s connections. One of England’s many capital offenses.
“You are the son of a duke. You wouldn’t hang.” He’d be shunned. Shipped out of the country. Probably sent to fight on the front lines in the hopes he’d do the decent thing like step in front of a bullet to end his family’s disgrace. But not hanged.
“You think not?” Audley stood. “You don’t think the government would love to make an example of an aristocrat? To round up the support of the common man by tossing him a bone? And the execution of a titled toff is a very juicy bone.” He looked away. “I don’t know if my father would fight for me,” he said, his voice small.
Julius’s gut clenched. That was something he’d never had to experience. He’d always known he had people to count on. His father had left no stone unturned trying to negotiate his release. His friends had exhausted the more disreputable avenues. Julius had come to believe they’d never succeed in their efforts, but he never stopped believing that they’d keep trying to save him. Eventually it had been a combination of his father’s efforts, his friends’ manipulations, and Julius’s own escape efforts that had secured his release.
“You will not hang.” Julius stepped close and gripped the man’s shoulders. “I will make sure of it.” He’d already saved one person from the Tyburn Tree. He could save another if it came to it. But it wouldn’t. Liverpool owed him, and Julius was all too ready to collect.
Audley gave him a weak smile. “I almost believe you.”
“As well you should.” Julius clapped him on the back and turned. Audley fell into step beside him. They gathered their coats and hats and stepped out into the brisk night air.
The bell was tolling midnight, and Julius looked across the street at St. Katherine’s church. A candle flickered high in the tower. Julius shivered, thinking of the narrow staircase the ringer had to climb to reach his perch. Poor bastard.
Julius tugged on a glove. “When I have further information, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, I wish to speak with your grooms.”
Audley nodded. He raised his voice to be heard above the echoing bells and the wheels of several carriages rattling over cobblestone. “I’ll tell them to expect you.” He stepped to the edge of the curb and waved to his driver parked down the street. The servant nodded and slapped the backs of the horses with the reins.
Audley never saw the man who stole up behind him and shoved him into the street.
A driver yelled. Horses squealed. And the terrible sound of a wheel striking flesh cut through the air.
Julius’s core turned to ice. He stumbled to the street. The lad’s servant pushed past him, knocking him aside. The driver dropped to his knees by Audley’s twisted legs and screamed for a doctor.
A middle-aged man in a long black cloak with a patch on the right shoulder hurried away. Julius changed direction and shot after him, struggling against the crowd flocking to the accident like vultures to a carcass. By the time he reached the corner, the man had disappeared.
Jaw clenched tight, Julius pushed back to Audley. Or what was left of him. Even in the dim light, he could tell the boy was dead. Getting trampled by horses and run over by a carriage would do that to a person.
His body began to shake with rage. Audley had been intentionally pushed, of that there was no doubt. Julius’s grand idea of speaking to the lad in the open had been foolish, and had gotten Audley killed. He swallowed, the back of his throat burning.
He’d promised the man that he wouldn’t hang.
He should have promised to keep him alive.
Chapter Seven
Reggie whimpered beneath Amanda’s hand, and she stilled. The dog had been listless all night and now lay, mewling in pain, on her sister’s settee in the morning room. She didn’t know what to do. Lady Mary had yet to rise. Julius had been avoiding her the past couple of days, and last night he hadn’t bothered to come home. And when she’d asked Carter if he knew anything of canine health, he’d merely curled his lip and turned away.
She couldn’t let anything happen to Reggie. Liz would be devastated. The dog had been a gift from her husband when he was just a pup. Although only a member of the family for a couple months, Reggie had wagged his way into everyone’s hearts, Amanda’s included. With Liz gone, the dog was the only one who was always there for her. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Nothing could happen to him.
Holding a bowl to his nose, she rubbed a finger gently between his eyes. “How about some cream, boy?”
Reggie closed his eyes and sighed.
Setting the bowl down on the floor, she stood and hurried to
the escritoire. When Reggie had first moved into the duke’s London house, he’d burned a paw by standing against an oven door. Liz had found an animal doctor in Chelsea who’d made house calls. She found her sister’s journal of household accounts, relieved that Liz still maintained her own records instead of relying solely on her servants. She found the entry and noted the doctor’s address. Pulling a sheet of paper out of the drawer, she sat at the small desk and wrote a hasty note asking for his immediate services. When she came to the end, she hesitated over her signature.
A request from Miss Amanda Wilcox would receive no response. She was tempted to write her sister’s name, but most everyone knew the duke and his new duchess were abroad. Would a note from a member of his staff draw an immediate response? Reggie might not have time to wait.
But if Amanda stood on the man’s front step and refused to leave until he agreed to see Reggie, that might do the trick. Her heart pounded at the thought of stepping out of doors. Reggie whined again, and Amanda closed her eyes. She could do this.
Resolved, she folded the note and tucked it up her sleeve. She raced upstairs for her pelisse, grateful that the covering would hide the state of her gown. Without a maid, or Julius, to help her dress, she made a poor showing of it. No stays, and buttons down her back that had found the wrong hole. The doctor would have every right to close the door in her face. If she let him.
She swept down the staircase and rushed for the front door, barely allowing the footman seated beside it time to jump up and open it for her.
The sun’s rays dropped on her like a shroud, and she froze at the threshold. She raised a hand to shade her eyes. The half-circle driveway was empty, quiet. A wall stood between the drive and the street, but muted sounds of life could be heard on the other side. Heart pounding, Amanda took a step forward. A group of men stamped along the sidewalk, crossing the entrance to the driveway. They didn’t spare her a glance. Amanda looked over her shoulder. The door stood open, inviting. But Reggie was sick. She faced front. Three steps lay before her and the driveway. All she needed to do was climb down the porch and walk to the street.
She took another half-step, the toes of her slippers peeking over the edge of the top stair.
Her heart pounded so hard she could feel her blood pulsing beneath the skin at her temples. She could do this. She’d been outside before, plenty of times. Granted, not since her imprisonment. But nothing had changed. She just had to put one foot in front of the other and she’d make her way to the animal doctor.
She lifted her foot, put it back down. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she fought to keep back a whimper. There was too much space. Too many directions from which someone could hurt her. Head spinning, she fell back and bumped into a soft body.
“My dear, are we going somewhere?” Lady Mary cupped Amanda’s elbow. Faded blue eyes looked out at her from beneath a fringe of white hair. “I would quite like to visit my milliner.” She cocked a critical eye at Amanda. “But you aren’t wearing a hat. Nor gloves. Your poor skin will burn.”
Amanda clutched at the woman’s shawl. “Quite.” She sucked down a shaky breath. “Quite. Lady Mary, I don’t feel well enough to go out today, but I have a very important missive to deliver.” She tugged the note from her sleeve and pressed it into the woman’s hand. “Would you please deliver this to the animal doctor on Hartford Court? And you can’t leave without his promise to come see Reggie at once. Something is wrong with him, and I don’t know what.”
“Of course, dear.” She clucked. “That poor baby. I should have known something was wrong when he refused the bit of beef I offered him last night. Let me go grab my gloves and reticule.”
Amanda almost stepped on the woman’s heels following her back inside. She wanted to kneel down and kiss the floor. Inside was safe. Inside was where she belonged.
The footman eyed her curiously, and she tried to gather her emotions. “Can you take the Lady Mary to the animal doctor on Hartford? The duke has used him before to attend to Reggie.”
“Yes, miss.” His gaze travelled down her body before snapping back to the wall with a blank look.
Amanda knew he was only curious about her disheveled appearance, her fright. The man had never acted inappropriately before. But she still shrank back. There were far fewer prying eyes inside than out, but there were still too many. And men looking at her body had never ended well for her.
She waited in the foyer until Lady Mary bustled out, the footman two steps behind. The woman assured her she wouldn’t return without the animal doctor in tow. But the duke’s aunt was so flighty, she might forget her task as easily as Julius had seemed to forget about Amanda. It should be Amanda going to retrieve the doctor. She was letting Reggie down. She was letting her sister down. Again.
With the front door safely shut, Amanda fled into the morning room and dropped to her knees next to the settee. She stroked Reggie’s head, his soft brown fur sliding through her fingers. Sunlight streamed through the window, reflecting off a large mirror on the wall. The ceiling stretched to three times her height. Everything was open and airy, and Amanda hated it. This room wasn’t safe, either.
As gently as possible, she slid her hands under Reggie’s warm body and cradled him to her chest. He was almost too large now for her to carry, but she managed. After one last whimper, he settled against her and fell back asleep. Feeling as though the walls were watching, she crept swiftly up the stairs and fled to her room, closing the door behind her.
Her bedchamber was dusky behind the drawn curtains, but her step never hesitated. She’d learned well how to navigate in the dark. Heading for her armoire, she pulled open the door and climbed inside. She’d managed to keep herself from succumbing to this weakness for over a month, but her spot in the corner was still open.
Sitting cross-legged, she held Reggie tight, burying her nose in his fur. With one last shaky breath, she pulled the door closed, sealing herself safely inside.
***
Where the bloody hell was she? Julius pressed his fingertips into his skull, hoping the pressure would counteract the pounding from within. Last night he’d gone to his townhouse, surprised the one servant left in residence during Julius’s extended absence, and gotten rip-roaring drunk. What else could a man do after getting another man killed? He was paying for it this morning.
Carter had assured him that Miss Wilcox was yet indoors, and of that, Julius had little doubt. She never left. But he’d searched the house high and low and had yet to discover her. His throbbing head couldn’t take this.
He strode into her room again. Her chamber smelled faintly of lavender, and he spied the bunch of dried flowers on her bureau. He fingered the faded purple stem, and it broke off in his hand. Desiccated. Dead. There was no life in this room. No spill of colorful gowns an eager chit had been too busy to put away. No half-read book on the low table in front of the fireplace. He ripped open the curtains over the window, letting light in. Amanda existed, but did she truly live?
He tapped his fingers on his thigh. She might not exist for long. If she didn’t reveal herself soon, he was going to kill her for scaring him. He didn’t even want to consider what Marcus would do to him if he misplaced the man’s sister-in-law. He’d start in the attics and make his way down through the house this time. She was within these walls; she had to be.
His hand was on the door’s latch when he heard the small whimper. Spinning, he scanned the room. Not wanting to believe it, he dropped to one knee and lifted the long counterpane. He heaved a sigh of relief. No one hiding beneath the bed. That only left one place where a body could fit. He crossed the room and opened the armoire.
Amanda blinked at the light and pulled her knees up close to her chest, causing the pup to whimper again.
It felt like someone had reached inside Julius’s chest and ripped out his heart.
He sank into a crouch next to the open door. “Amanda,” he said gently. “What are you doing in there?”
She remained silent. Juli
us remembered the blanket he’d found at the bottom of the wardrobe when he’d dressed Amanda and bit back a curse. How long had this been her hiding place?
“Don’t you think it’s time to come out?” he asked gently.
She shook her head and hugged the dog close.
Julius ran a finger behind Reggie’s ear. “I’ve heard you’ve sent for the animal doctor. You’ll need to take the dog downstairs to await his arrival.”
Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the wood paneling. The skin of her neck gleamed like ivory in the sunlight, and she looked as fragile as a snowflake. Such pallor was the height of fashion, but knowing that she only achieved it by hiding herself away turned Julius’s stomach. He had to get her out of this house. It bound her like a tomb. He wanted to see her as brown and freckled as a field hand.
She offered up the pup. “You take him down. The animal doctor will be more attentive if you’re there anyway.”
“I’m not going down without you.” His voice was harsher than he’d intended, and Amanda’s eyes flew open. He cleared his throat. “We’ll go down together.”
He could carry her out. Hell, he could toss her in his carriage and force her to walk Hyde Park without a bonnet, something that would put some color on her face. But she needed to break free of her self-imposed prison herself. If anyone understood that, it was he.
What he didn’t understand was why she found comfort in close spaces. Just seeing her slight body ensconced in the wardrobe made his skin itch.
His first year of imprisonment had been in a space this small. His cell was a mud pit they covered with a slab of wood. It had almost been a relief when they’d drag him out and bind him. His torture had been their entertainment. The ropes hadn’t allowed for even the smallest movements. As his captors had come to understand his rank in British society, the ropes had loosened, his treatment improved. When he’d become the heir to an earldom, the samurai holding him had made the knots so loose they were merely a formality. They’d come to believe that his honor would keep him from running. They’d been wrong.
