Brides of London: Regency Romance Collection

by Alec, Joyce

  Swallowing her fear and feeling every sinew tense, she set the bag down carefully and stepped back, looking all about her. Nothing jumped out at her, nothing moved in the darkness. There came no creak of footsteps, no stifled cough or sneeze. Perhaps this was all as it seemed. All she had to do was step back and return home, in the hope that her mother would be returned to her. If she was not there when Henrietta stepped over the threshold, then Henrietta did not know what she would do.

  Turning around, Henrietta began to hurry back the way she had come, her hands curling into fists. She did not see a dark figure step out in front of her, did not see how they raised their hand, a club held within it. She did not even feel the blow as it smashed down on the back of her head, nor did she feel the cold cobbles hit her face as she fell. She felt nothing, saw nothing, and could do nothing other than accept the darkness as it wrapped itself around her and held her captive.

  4

  The darkness did tend to unsettle him, James had to admit. As did walking through the docks in the knowledge that there were more than a few scoundrels about—scoundrels who would think nothing of attacking him and taking all he had. He had tried his best to dress in such a manner that would not allow him to be noticed by others, although his valet had been utterly horrified when James had asked to be dressed in the worst manner possible. James had not explained the particulars but had told his valet it was required so that he would not be attacked for being a gentleman in a place where nobility were not particularly welcome, and this had satisfied his valet somewhat.

  Oliver was dressed in a similar manner, although they were both grateful for the sturdy boots they had chosen to wear. There were all manner of things down at the docks, all sorts of stenches and stains everywhere, which only made James’ stomach churn all the more. He did not want to admit that he was a little anxious about what was to come, but that was the truth of it.

  “At least your tiger is a sturdy enough looking fellow,” Oliver muttered as he led the way towards a small, dimly lit building. “He is good in a fight, I hope?”

  James shrugged, throwing a look over his shoulder at the broad-shouldered yet rather slim fellow who was carrying a small lantern so as to guide their way a little better. “I should think so,” he commented as Oliver lifted one eyebrow. “But let us hope it does not come to that.” He could already hear the sounds of men shouting and reveling, wondering if this would be a simple matter of paying what Oliver owed and then retreating.

  Oliver grunted but said nothing, which did not allay James’ fears in the least. Instead, he pushed the door open and walked inside, leaving James to follow.

  The room was not overly large but seemed to hold a good deal too many men for the space. A wall of liquor and bile seemed to hit him, the smell making him want to retreat outside even though the docks themselves were not much better. The men inside all slowly began to go silent, turning one by one to look at James and Oliver. James could feel his mouth go dry, far too aware that there was very little chance that, should they be attacked, he would be able to fight them off. He was not often afraid for his life, but in this case, he had to admit that the fear was there.

  “I have come to see Jack,” said Oliver in much too loud a voice. “I have something to give him.”

  A rumble ran around the room as the men looked at each other, before turning around to look at one man who sat in the corner. James caught his breath as the fellow stood, seeing just how tall and broad-shouldered he was. He wore breeches and a torn shirt and, as he rose, it seemed that almost all the men in the room moved back from him, clearly intimidated. James swallowed hard, lifting his chin and trying to appear as calm as possible without betraying even a modicum of the sudden anxiety that flooded him. Little wonder that Oliver had been so afraid of this fellow, given the man’s stature!

  “Ah, if it isn’t the little boy who’s in over his head,” the man said, his voice low and grating as some of the other men began to chuckle. “Come to tell me that you ain’t got the money and you’re going to need another day or so?” He laughed harshly and cracked his knuckles. “Can’t you guess how that’s going to work out for you?”

  Oliver cleared his throat and took a step forward. “No, I have not come to beg for mercy or anything like that,” he said, just as loudly. “I have the money here for you. You’re welcome to count it but I can assure you—”

  “And who’s this?” Jack interrupted, coming right up to James and looking down at him with dark, angry eyes. “Your guard, come to make sure you get back in one piece?” Behind him, the men chuckled. “Didn’t you trust that I’m a good, honest man, who only wants what’s owed him?”

  James drew himself up to his full height, his chin lifting. “My brother is quite able to look after his own affairs,” he replied, sending a sudden silence through the tavern. “I am here only to ensure that the money reaches you safely.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes for a long moment, then shrugged. “You mean to say you trust him as little as I do, when it comes to money,” he said, making the men in the tavern laugh loudly. “Very wise, sir. But yes,” he continued, turning to Oliver, “I will count it, if you don’t mind. Brother or not, I still have to be sure it’s all there.”

  “It is,” James said firmly. “Not a penny missing.”

  He turned to see Oliver giving him a sharp glance, before looking towards the tiger. Nodding, James gestured for the tiger to take out the money to hand to Oliver, murmuring quietly for the man to stay with Oliver whilst he stepped outside.

  This transaction ought to be done between Oliver and Jack and did not require James’ presence. In fact, it was probably better for Oliver if he was not present. Making his way to the door, he pushed it open and stepped outside, feeling almost grateful for the less-than-fresh air that he pulled into his lungs. The moon shone brightly, the clouds chased away by a fresh wind that seemed to bring a taste of salt to the air. Sighing to himself and desperate to remove some of the tension from his limbs, James wandered away from the tavern, quite certain that he would be sent for if something untoward occurred.

  His heart heavy in his chest, James could hardly believe that Oliver had managed to get himself involved in something so foolish as to play with a man like Jack down at the docks. He should be grateful that Jack had not demanded the money immediately, as he had every right to do. Had the money not been paid, James had very little doubt that the man would have, somehow, made certain that Oliver paid what was due—and more besides.

  Shaking his head, James meandered slowly towards the ships that were tied up at the docks. They looked rather magnificent, he had to admit, with the moonlight clothing them in an ethereal glow. He could almost imagine what it would be like to step up onto the gangplank and lean out to see the waves crashing with all their might. It would be a new sort of freedom, he supposed, looking up at them and letting his mind wander... only for him to trip over something large, his feet falling from under him and sending him directly down onto his hands and knees.

  A cry of frustration wrenched itself from his lips as he picked himself up, wondering what he had tripped over and thinking it to be, most likely, either a crate or a large coil of rope. Muttering darkly to himself, he kicked out at it—only to hear a tiny sound coming from whatever it was.

  His heart stopped in his chest as he stared hard at the ground, trying to see what it was amongst the dark shadows. He could not make it out, no matter how hard he tried—and yet, he was certain that a low sound had come from it. Was it a dog? A poor creature left tied up or injured and alone? Bending down, he carefully stretched his hand out and felt something soft and warm beneath his hand.

  His breath caught as he realized he was holding onto fabric, onto clothing. The thing he had tripped on was not a thing at all. It was, in fact, a person of some description. Could it be a cabin boy? An injured sailor? James rolled his eyes to himself as he got to his feet. Most likely, it was someone who had drunk too much and then attempted to make their way from the
tavern back to wherever they stayed, only to trip, fall, and lie there in an inebriated state. Bending over, he nudged the person with his foot, trying to get some sort of response from them.

  “Are you quite all right?” he asked loudly, hoping that this would rouse the man somewhat. “Can you get up? I will help you back to wherever it is you’re going. I certainly do not want you to end up in the sea!” He chuckled but there came no response, making him sigh in frustration. Bending down, he reached to shake the person hard, only to grasp at something that ran through his fingers as he tugged it away.

  Long hair.

  His breath caught with the sudden realization of what this was. This was no man, lying drunk on the docks. This was a woman. Of course, there were plenty of ladies of the night about these parts, but even still, he could not simply leave her here alone.

  “Are you injured, miss?” he asked, a little more gently, as he tried to find her shoulder. “Are you able to stand?”

  No sound came, leaving James with the uncomfortable task of lifting the lady up into his arms, which was rather difficult and somewhat embarrassing when he could not quite make out which part of her was which. Eventually, he managed to do so, carrying her carefully back out of the shadows until the moonlight caught her features.

  Blinking rapidly, James looked down into the face of the young lady, seeing how the cloak she wore was now wrapped all about her and how her dark curls were tangled around her face and neck. A lady of the night did not wear a cloak such as this, did she? Surely not! But why else would a lady be out near the docks at such a late hour? Sitting down on a crate, he began to carefully lift her curls away from her face, only to feel shock running straight through him, freezing him in place.

  He knew this face. He was certain he knew this face although he could not quite remember from where he had seen her before. Nor could he understand why she was not awakening. Had she been drinking liquor? Down at the docks? Frowning, he looked into her face once more—and suddenly, he remembered her. She had been the lady he had seen only earlier that day walking with the lady he had thought to be her mother beside her. The one who had made him smile, who had made him laugh, simply by being so obviously dismissive of her mother’s warnings. Why was she here? By all appearances, she was a lady of quality and that certainly did not explain her presence here at the docks or her reason for being either inebriated or injured. Her face was white in the moonlight, leaving James with a growing concern for her welfare.

  “Miss?” he said, gently shaking her. “Miss? Might you…?” He trailed off, feeling something warm on his arm where he cradled her head. Instantly aware of what it was, he lifted her carefully and looked down at his arm, seeing the dark stain on his shirt sleeve and knowing all too well that what was there was blood. Blood that was coming from the back of the lady’s head, meaning she had not only been attacked but had been hit hard when she had not known it was coming. Why she was at the docks in the first place, he did not know, but the awareness that she was injured began to burn into his mind. Lifting her into his arms again and going as carefully as he could, James began to make his way to the tavern, his heart racing as he felt the warmth begin to seep into his arm again.

  “I have to get her to a doctor.”

  Shoving the door open hard with his elbow, he somehow managed to maneuver both himself and the lady inside the tavern, seeing again how every face turned towards him.

  “I found her at the docks,” he said as Oliver turned to look at him, his eyes widening at the sight. “She is a lady of quality. I do not know what has occurred, but she is injured and I must get her to my townhouse before she becomes worse.”

  Jack, who had been leaning over the money that Oliver had been counting out, put up both hands in a gesture of defense.

  “Ain’t me,” he said, as though James had blamed him. “I ain’t done nothing to this lady.”

  Another few voices began to chime in with the same protestations, making James grow hot with anger.

  “I do not care about declarations of your innocence!” he exclaimed as the tiger came over to him, looking down at the lady with concern. “I do not know what has occurred, nor do I care, for at this present moment, my only hope is to have her taken to my townhouse before she succumbs to her injuries. Come, Oliver,” he commanded as the tiger hurried to open the door for him. “We must go at once. Jack, if there are any discrepancies, then I shall make them right.”

  Jack, who was a little more white-faced than James had seen him before, was looking down at the lady in fright. Wordlessly, he shook his head and then gestured for Oliver to make his way to the door. James understood exactly what the man feared. To attack a lady of quality was a severe offence, especially if that attack led to death. No one wanted to be implicated in the crime for fear of what would become of them. That was why the men in the tavern had all been so eager to proclaim their innocence—but James did not care. The lady in his arms was still unconscious and had not said a word or even moved ever since he had caught her up. He was ashamed of how he had prodded her at the first, thinking her to be a drunk gentleman who had quite lost his senses, for now he feared that he had made her injuries worse.

  “Where did you find her?” Oliver asked breathlessly as he hurried along beside James. “What is wrong with her?”

  “I tripped over her prone body,” James muttered darkly. “I cannot tell what has occurred save for the fact that she has an injury to the back of her head.”

  “But why?” Oliver asked, voicing the very same question that currently ran in James’ head. “Why would someone attack a young lady of quality?”

  James shook his head, his throat constricting and anger burning in him at what he considered to be a despicable act. “I do not know,” he answered honestly. “But I intend to make sure that the person responsible pays for their sins.” Seeing the carriage and the tiger waiting to help him into it, he grimaced. “But first we must pray that this young lady recovers, for without knowing who she is, we can do nothing.”

  Oliver nodded but said nothing. Waiting until James had sat down, he climbed in and kept his eyes fixed upon the young lady, even though the shadows now passed over her face as the carriage began to return home. James, too, could not help but look at her, silently praying that she would not slip into darkness and death, but instead would remain with them and be able to, thereafter, help him in his search for who had done such a truly terrible thing.

  5

  Henrietta woke with a start.

  Pain thundered through her head and made her cry aloud, before she sunk back into a softness that seemed to envelope her. Fear grasped at her heart and made her cry out again, suddenly afraid that she was in the home of some cruel gentleman, the man who had taken her mother and now had taken her.

  A strong hand grasped hers, but she tried to pull away, tears beginning to stream down her face.

  “You have no need to cry, my lady,” said a soft voice as Henrietta squeezed her eyes closed, too afraid to look at the man who spoke to her. “I must apologize, for I do not know your name.”

  Henrietta tried to shake her head but the pain was too great. “Of course you know my name,” she whispered, unable to make her voice any louder. “You wrote me that note. You took my mother.” Tears burned in her eyes as she cried all the more, her heart an agony of suffering and torment. This man, whomever he was, had taken her mother, taken the rubies, and now had her in his clutches. Everything had come back to her at once, the very moment she had awoken. The pain that clutched at her head was, most likely, from his hand, she realized, struggling all the more to pull her hand from his.

  “Please, miss,” the man said gently, his voice so quiet that she felt herself drawn into its tenderness, her breathing ragged. “I mean you no harm, truly. I do not know anything about a note or your mother. I do not even know who you are.”

  She tried to speak but all that came out was a harsh sob, her throat aching as she tried to keep herself in check. She had no idea wher
e she was, no knowledge of this man who spoke to her, and no understanding of what he would demand from her next.

  “Please,” the man said again, his voice still gentle as he let her hand go so that she would not fight him again. “You must understand, miss, that I am entirely at a loss. I am not the man you think me to be. I found you at the docks and brought you here.”

  Swallowing hard, Henrietta took in a shuddering breath and forced her eyes open, struggling to find the courage she needed to continue. The gentleman by the bed surprised her, for he did not look like a criminal. In fact, from the way he was dressed, he appeared to be a gentleman.

  “There we are,” he said softly, giving her a small smile, his expression filled with concern. “You are looking at me, at least.”

  Henrietta closed her eyes for a moment, her tears draining away. “You did not write the note?” she asked, not at all certain whether or not she should believe him. “You say that but I have no evidence of it.” Opening her eyes again, she saw him lift one shoulder in a half shrug.

  “I do not know what to say to you, my lady,” he said, spreading his hands as he sat back in his chair, looking at her. “I can only tell you the truth.”

  The pain in her head began to grow steadily, making her wince, and he reached forward at once to hand her a glass of water from the table beside her. About to refuse it, a sudden, angry thirst rose deep within her and she reached for it without hesitation, drinking it eagerly. Her body cried out in relief, taking in every bit of moisture it could.

  “You have been here for three days,” the man said as she finished drinking. “I have been waiting for you to awaken, fearing that the injury to your head would be too severe for you to waken from.”