Rogue’s Holiday

by Walker, Regan

  He untied his cloak and set it about her shoulders. “There, this will keep you warm, unless, of course, you are reduced to shivering by my mere presence.”

  “You are such a rogue,” she chided, the light from the Pavilion falling across her face.

  “Do you know that when you are trying to be angry with me, your eyes become intensely blue? I noticed it that first night I kissed you at Grillon’s.”

  “How despicable of you to recall that incident I have been trying to forget.”

  “But you can’t forget it, can you?” A blush suffused her cheeks, giving him the satisfaction of having correctly judged her feelings. “Just as I thought,” he said. “Neither can I.”

  He turned her cloaked shoulders toward him and drew her close, bending to kiss her. It was no light kiss, for the taste of her created in him an overpowering desire for more. She pressed her palms to his chest but did not push him away. Instead, she began to respond, her lips softening beneath his, kissing him back. Reaching her hands to the back of his neck, she held his head to her.

  “There,” he said, breaking the kiss. “Now you see what lies between us.”

  She removed her hands from his chest and took a step back. “I see nothing of the kind! And I did not give you permission to kiss me.”

  He fought the urge to laugh. “No, I suppose you did not. Still, those eyes of yours told me you would welcome my kiss. And you did.” He reached for her. “Don’t fight me, Chastity.”

  “You would seduce me?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Nay, I would marry you! We belong together, you and I.”

  “You are boldly presumptuous, sir!”

  He let out a sigh, searching for the words to get through to her. “I admit I’ve been at loose ends. It took me some time to find my bearings but, now that I have, I know the woman I want for my wife. And that woman is you, Chastity Reynolds.” In a softer tone, he called her by the name he would always prefer. “Darling.”

  “Darling? You jest! You are forever finding amusement at my expense. How could I marry such a one as you? A rogue!”

  “The description might have fit me at one time but since I met you that evening in London, I have reformed.”

  “Again, you would bring up that embarrassing episode.”

  “But I must,” he protested. “From that day on, I have not been able to get you out of my mind. You can imagine how delighted I was to discover you were the one the Countess of Claremont had asked me to call upon. She may have conceived the match but I am pleased to follow through. You would not be happy married to a man who always gives you your way.”

  “Why should I marry at all? I have no need. At my twenty-first birthday, not long from now, I come into a family legacy, an estate of my own in Northamptonshire. Already there is an estate manager and servants to see to my needs. The manor is not large, but it is quite adequate.”

  “Perfect! When we are not in London or on my ship, we can live there. Children do better with a home on land breathing country air.”

  “Children? Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?”

  “Possibly,” he said. And, with a smile that might have been a smirk, he added, “But I do plan.”

  She turned and dashed away into the night.

  “Chastity!” he called across the lawn, as she disappeared into the trees. He would give her a moment alone and then go after her. He had taken her by surprise. Once she had time to reflect, she would see reason.

  Chastity leaned back against the trunk of an oak, her hand pressed to her racing heart. Sir Robert’s kiss had stirred something deep within her, something she did not want to admit. She had run not just from him but from herself and from dreams she had allowed to die long ago.

  For weeks, she had hidden her heart behind her anger, anger at the audacity of the man being so free with her person. She had thought his teasing manner spoke of his lack of respect but perhaps she was wrong. The rogue was slowly winning her heart. She had not resisted his lips upon hers. No, she had shamelessly responded.

  He couldn’t be serious about marrying her, could he? And why her? Why not Rose or countless other beautiful women he had known? Doubtless some were more highborn than she.

  He had made no avowal of love, no proposal on bended knee. And, if he were serious, could she ever trust such a man to be faithful? Could she live with a man who wasn’t?

  Before she could answer her questions, she was suddenly aware she was not alone. Dusky shadows beneath the trees crept toward her.

  “There you are!” said a man’s voice she did not know. As he stepped out of the shadows, she recognized the costume of a Russian serf she had observed among those attending the ball. The dark beard and mustache beneath his peasant’s cap were likely not his own but his clothing, the long white shirt belted over loose-fitting trousers tucked into his boots, was convincing.

  He stalked closer. There was something sinister about his approach as if the shadows still clung to him.

  Fear gripped her and slowly she backed away, drawing Sir Robert’s cloak tightly around her as if to conjure the man himself, knowing somehow he would defend her with his life.

  “Grab her!” the man hissed to another.

  She screamed and turned, running as hard as she could, desperate to get away.

  A hand caught her arm and wrenched her back, making her drop her mask. “Got her, Guvnor.”

  She yelped in pain at the vise he had on her arm and turned to kick the man’s shins and beat his head with her fist. “Let me go!” The man smelled of unwashed skin. He wore no costume but the simple clothes of a dockworker. Her slippers were not much of a weapon, but she kicked as hard as she could, relieved when the man shouted an oath and loosened his grip. She hit him again in the face with her fist, breaking his hold on her arm.

  Again she ran. “Help!” she yelled. “Sir Robert, help!” Heart pounding, she ran from the trees and had just reached the clearing when she was seized from behind.

  A scarf was lashed around her mouth and tied at the back of her head. “No sense in yellin’, Sweetin’. Yer lover cannot hear ye. Seems he’s taken a blow to the head and is…indisposed.”

  The men chortled, finding humor in her misery.

  Who are they and what could they want with me?

  She turned to fight, swinging her fists and kicking out, until the Russian serf grabbed her hands and tied them behind her. “Quickly, get her into the carriage,” he ordered.

  There were three of them now. Two were dragging her toward the Steyne. She dug in her heels but they were stronger, lifting her from the ground to carry her. As they were about to leave the Pavilion grounds, she left the only clue she could and let one of her slippers fall from her foot. The men were so intent on getting her away, they failed to notice.

  One of them tossed her into the waiting carriage, a plain black affair that, even in the dim light, looked worn. A driver sat on top.

  “Pete, you sit up top with Duffy,” said the leader. “We’ll drop the two of you at the lodgings to take care of our remaining business. Augie and I will meet you in London at the tavern.”

  London? She had no idea why these men had abducted her or why they were taking her to London. She would have asked if her mouth had not been gagged. Men didn’t abduct a young woman for a noble purpose. It could be a kidnapping for ransom. Her family would be desperate to recover her. But it could be worse; it could be rape. Quavering, she prayed Sir Robert lived and would come for her. But what if he were too late? What if he never found her? Dread settled into her chest along with a feeling of impending doom as she imagined the worst. Oh, God, help me.

  Voices around Robbie roused him from the deep blackness. “Robbie! Robbie!” Jack’s voice. A slap on the cheek brought him awake.

  He moaned as a terrible pounding in the back of his head grew worse. “What…what happened?” The grass beneath him was damp and had seeped into his clothing. “Why am I on the ground?”

  “Here, let me help you sit,
” said Jack.

  Robbie rose to a sitting position. The world swam around him.

  “Where is my great-niece, Sir Robert?” asked a concerned Lady Sanborn whose face suddenly appeared before him.

  “Where is Chastity?” demanded an unusually fierce Miss Crockett.

  Robbie tried to leap up only to fall back. Jack caught him and helped him to stand. Robbie pulled the wig from his head and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the back of his aching head where a huge lump had formed. “What do you mean, ‘where is Chastity’? Isn’t she here?”

  “No,” said Jack. “You were the last person to see her.”

  “We were talking,” Robbie said, trying to remember. “We had a bit of a tiff and she ran off. I was just going after her when…oh, God. I was struck from behind.”

  “Oh, no,” Lady Sanborn said on a gasp, covering her mouth. “Someone has taken my great-niece.”

  “What time is it?” asked Robbie. “How long has she been missing?”

  “It’s after midnight,” replied Jack.

  “This is all my fault,” lamented Robbie. “I should have seen it coming. I should have known they would strike at her.”

  “Explain yourself,” said Lady Sanborn.

  “Let’s get him into the Pavilion,” said Jack. “He can explain there.

  “No,” said Robbie, his mind clearing as guilt assailed him. “It lies to me to find Chastity. I will search.”

  “You and Lady Sanborn wait for us in the Pavilion,” Jack said to Rose. “I will go with Robbie.”

  They strode into the trees, looking for any clue. The darkness didn’t help them but Robbie caught the glitter of gold and reached down. “It’s her mask.”

  “Over here!” shouted Jack.

  Where the lawn met the Steyne, a slice of gold shimmered from the ground. “’Tis Chastity’s!” he exclaimed, picking up the slipper. “She was wearing these.”

  “If they left from the Steyne,” said Jack, “they likely had a carriage. Come, let us return; the ladies will be anxious.”

  Inside the Pavilion, Robbie subsided onto a sofa in the Music Room Gallery that, thankfully, was devoid of all but a few servants.

  When Rose saw the slipper and the mask, she blurted, “Those are Chastity’s!” and took them from him.

  The two women took a seat on either side of him, wringing their hands. Jack stood in front of him, a look of concern on his face.

  Plagued by regret and his thoughts scattering to the wind, Robbie tried to determine his next step. The woman he would take as his wife, the woman he had—against all odds—come to love, had been abducted. He must get her back before any harm could come to her. He looked up at Jack. “It could be North Street. I have to try.”

  “You are not making any sense, young man,” said Lady Sanborn in a tone that spoke of authority. “I would know what this is about and why someone would want to abduct Chastity.”

  He turned to see the worried expression in her brown eyes. “I am, my lady, or have been, His Majesty’s spy. Because of my work ending the Cato Street conspiracy, men in sympathy with those hanged for the crime have been following me.”

  Miss Crockett gasped.

  “There was a threatening note, but their hatred was directed at me. Jack and I have tried to identify the culprits on many occasions but have not been successful. We were prepared for an attack but not on Miss Reynolds. They had rooms somewhere near North Street. I will comb that street tonight and at first light, I will follow the clues to where she has been taken. In the meantime, I will ask the king for help.”

  Robbie was escorted with Jack, Lady Sanborn and Miss Crockett to the small anteroom near the king’s chambers where Robbie explained all he knew to his sire.

  “We will have the traitors strung up as we did the others!” said the king, who had shed his pasha costume. “What can we do to help you catch them and return Miss Reynolds?”

  “If you would spare me a few of your guards, I would go to North Street and scour it for any evidence that she has been there. And we may expect a note demanding a ransom.”

  “You shall have whatever you need, Sir Robert.” The king turned to the nearest footman and gave an order.

  Worried for the time that was lost while he lay unconscious, Robbie set off on foot accompanied by Jack and three of the king’s guards. North Street was dark, the merchants’ shops closed for the night, except for a few taverns at the other end of the street. But this part of the street with its narrow alleys was where they had spotted the redheaded man.

  “Spread out and check the alleys!” he urged. “And look for any carriage.”

  There were stables off North Street but before he would resort to checking them, he wanted to see if the evildoers had returned to their lair. He refused to allow himself to think what they might do to a young innocent like Chastity Reynolds.

  An hour later, it was clear there was no carriage anywhere on North Street or hidden in its alleys. “Damn,” he said, “there has to be some sign they were here.”

  “They may have taken her out of Brighton,” suggested Jack.

  “Aye, they might. We can ask about carriages headed to London.” They were about to leave when Robbie spotted a light coming from a second story window. Most people would be in bed at this hour.

  He drew the men to him and whispered to the three guards, “Wait here should any run from this door. Jack and I will see what keeps this lodger up so late.”

  Pistol drawn, Robbie opened the street door and slowly crept up the stairs. Jack, a knife poised in his hand, followed closely. Robbie listened for voices but heard none until he was in front of the door on the upper floor.

  Men’s voices drifted to his ear.

  “A tidy piece of work,” said one.

  “Neat as a pin,” said another, deeper voice.

  “The guvnor should be in London by mornin’ with his baggage wrapped up and ready to deliver.”

  “Aye, and in that getup she wore to the masked ball, he should have no trouble unloadin’ the goods.”

  His pistol cocked, Robbie kicked the door open. The two men scrambled to grab a weapon. “Don’t move,” he said with ice in his voice, aiming his pistol at the redheaded man just laying his hand on a pistol.

  In a very unwise move, the man decided to lift the pistol. Robbie fired, knocking it out of his hand.

  “Ye shot me!” said the wounded man, clutching his bloody hand to his chest.

  “I’ll do worse if I don’t get some answers.” Robbie laid aside the used pistol and drew another.

  Boots pounded on the stairs behind them and one of the king’s guards stuck his head in the doorway. “Everything all right here, sir?”

  “Yes,” said Jack, “We’re just ridding the place of these vermin.”

  The three guards entered and took up a stance behind them.

  Robbie aimed his pistol at the other man. “Now I want answers. Where is the girl?”

  The two men shared a glance. “We don’t rightly know.”

  “That won’t do,” said Robbie. “There were more of you, yes?”

  The redhead nodded.

  “And a carriage?”

  He nodded again.

  “Give me their destination,” he demanded.

  Neither man spoke a word. Without turning, Robbie said to Jack, “It appears they want a display of your skills with a blade.”

  Jack threw his knife, pinning the wounded man’s hat to the wall. “I can come closer, you know, much closer. Neither of you would miss an eye or an ear.”

  “We don’t rightly know where the guvnor is,” blurted out the redhead’s companion whose eyes looked a bit crazed. “We’re to meet at The Prospect in a week’s time. That were the place he hired us.”

  “The tavern on the London riverfront?” Robbie knew it well as it was a favorite haunt of the crews of his family’s ships.

  The man nodded. “Aye, that one.”

  “And between now and then?” said Jack, a secon
d knife glinting in his hand.

  The wounded redhead cringed away from the knife. “He never told us the one he’s takin’ her to.”

  Robbie frowned, his teeth grinding in frustration. “What do you mean ‘the one’—the one what? Spit it out.”

  The man had the audacity to smile. “Which nunnery in London, yer lordship. All we knows is that it were a fancy one.”

  Dead silence filled the room as Robbie considered what they were saying. He had expected them to hold Chastity for ransom but this he had not imagined. “He is taking an innocent to a London brothel?”

  “Aye,” said the redhead, blood dripping down his wrist. “The guvnor knew ye were soft on the chit.” He added with a snigger, “He knew ye wouldn’t like it. O’course, he wants ye dead, too.”

  Robbie’s eyes narrowed on the sniveling creature. “I want his name.”

  “Ings is all we know,” said the other man.

  The leader, this man “Ings” had planned well, not trusting his hired men to know his whereabouts or his precise destination. Robbie hated to ask but he needed to know to be prepared for what he might find. “Did any of you touch her?”

  The two men exchanged a look. The unwounded man stuck out his chest. “Oh, she’s a rare plucked ’un, she is, but I had her singin’ a song…”

  Robbie crossed the room in one stride and struck the man with his pistol. The man recoiled. “Now, here, there ain’t no cause fer that.”

  “There is,” Robbie said, pointing the pistol at the man’s head. “I’d as soon as blow your head off as listen to your blathering. Now give me a straight answer!”

  The pathetic creature’s eyes grew large and he whimpered, pleading for his life. “No, no, we never touched her. The guvnor wouldn’t allow it. Said she’s worth more unsullied. He said a drab house can sell fresh baggage for a pretty penny.”

  Robbie’s gut twisted. He was sorely tempted to end their sorry lives here. “How many are taking her to London?”

  “Two.”

  Robbie could not wait for the meeting at the tavern. He must find Chastity now before her innocence was taken and she was terrorized. Turning to the king’s guards, he said, “I leave these two to you and the king’s justice. I must go to London. Except for the king, tell no one what you have heard.” He might yet be able to save Chastity from a terrible fate.