Patrick nodded. “Very well. Thank you.” His heart was beginning to pound.
She held out a hand. “Six shillings.”
He pressed the coins into her palm. “Half now. Half when you deliver Thorne to me.”
Evie gave a crooked smile, tossing her red curls over her shoulders. “I’ll deliver Thorne to you, My Lord. Don’t you worry about that.”
Patrick watched as she disappeared upstairs, then began to pace edgily back and forth in front of the building.
Simon tugged his arm. “At least wait on the other side of the street. You want to draw attention to yourself here, you’re doing a fine a job of it.” His voice was taut. Patrick sensed he had quite enough of spending his evenings in Seven Dials.
So have I…
After what felt like a lifetime, the dark-haired girl Patrick had met two nights earlier poked her head out of the tavern door. She gave them a quick nod before disappearing inside again.
Patrick dug a hand into his pocket, feeling a little comfort at the solidity of his pistol. He marched up the narrow staircase, his heart thumping wildly.
He stopped outside Evie’s room. He could hear strained laughter floating beneath the door. He couldn’t tell if it belonged to Evie or Thorne.
“I’ll speak with him alone,” Patrick told the others. “The two of you wait outside. Be ready with your pistols in case Thorne gets violent.” He rapped sharply on the door.
After a moment, Evie answered. The laces of her purple dress were undone, revealing the discolored white corset beneath. Her hair was spilling wildly over her shoulders, lampblack smeared across one cheek. She gave a self-satisfied smile and gestured theatrically to the bed.
“George Thorne for you, My Lord. As requested.”
Patrick stepped inside, then hurriedly looked away. Thorne was sprawled naked across the bed, his wrists and ankles bound to the bedposts. His round face was flushed and beaded with sweat. The pink scar on his chin seemed to be pulsing.
“What is this?” he hissed. His eyes fell to Patrick. “You.” He tried to hawk a glob of spittle in their direction. It fell woefully short, landing on his pasty white thigh. He thrashed against the bindings.
Evie leaned over him. “Just relax,” she said silkily, stroking his cheek. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” She turned away from Thorne’s fierce eyes and gave Patrick a wink. “He’s all yours, My Lord.”
Patrick pulled his pistol from his pocket and shoved it hard against Thorne’s chest. He let out a grunt of pain.
“Tell me who you’re working for,” Patrick demanded. “Who’s behind these attacks? And what do they want?”
Thorne shook his head violently. “I don’t know. I can’t tell you nothing.”
Patrick felt anger welling up inside him. His voice began to rise. “That’s not going to work anymore, Thorne. I need answers. And either you give them to me, or I kill you.”
“You won’t kill me. A man like you’s too scared of the gallows.”
Patrick snorted. “If I killed you in this place, no one would even notice you were gone.”
He tried to keep the uncertainty out of his voice. He knew well he didn’t have it in him to kill a man.
But George Thorne doesn’t need to know that…
He cocked the trigger.
Thorne let out a murmur of fear. “All right, all right.” He exhaled sharply, turning his head away from Patrick. “His name is The Ghost. That’s what we all call him, anyway. The Ghost. I don’t know who he really is. We just take our orders from him.”
Patrick pressed a hand over his mouth in thought. “What does this Ghost want with me?”
“I don’t know,” Thorne spluttered. “I swear it. We just do as he asks.”
“Why?”
“Money. Why else?” Thorne gave a choked-up cough. “If he finds out I was the one who told you, he’ll kill me.”
Patrick began to pace, the floor creaking loudly beneath him. “Harry Penwith. Is he involved?”
Thorne shook his head. “I don’t know the man.”
Is he lying? I don’t think so.
“Where can I find The Ghost?” Patrick demanded.
“I don’t know. He’s elusive. Like a shadow. He brings us messages telling us where to meet him. It’s always somewhere different. He moves around the city. Finds new hideouts in abandoned places and the like. He’s too smart to stay in the one place.” Thorne fixed him with wide eyes. “Don’t go looking for the man, Lord Ramshay. Not unless you want to end up dead.”
Chapter 31
“Do you believe him?” Edmund asked Patrick. “About this Ghost character?”
They were sitting at the bar at the Grand Hotel. The place felt like a palace after their adventures in Seven Dials.
Patrick sipped his brandy. “I do. The man was scared. I can’t imagine he would have lied.”
Simon chuckled. “I wish I’d seen it. Patrick Connolly waving a gun about. I hardly believe it.”
Edmund chuckled. “I’d believe it. I’ve seen him in the boxing ring.” Edmund felt slightly irritated he had missed the whole debacle. Patrick had been threatening Thorne into revealing the name of an underworld mogul and he’d been stuck outside guarding the door like a mangy dog.
“Be grateful you didn’t see it,” said Patrick. “I fear I’ll never scrub the image of Thorne’s naked body from my mind.”
Edmund gave a snort of laugh. “So. This Ghost. How do we find him?”
Patrick let out his breath. “Honestly, Featherstone, I’ve no clue.” He tossed back his drink. “You? Any brilliant ideas?”
“What of Harry Penwith? Do you still believe him involved?”
Patrick ran a finger around the top of his glass. “I’m not willing to rule anyone out. But both Thorne and Penwith claim they don’t know each other. And I can’t see any direct connection between them. But Penwith is the only man I can think of with reason to threaten me.”
“There’s no direct connection between Thorne and Penwith except the Red Queen,” Edmund reminded him. “Wasn’t that where your father used to spend his time? No doubt Penwith was beside him at the Pharo tables.”
Patrick nodded slowly. “You’re right. It all comes back to the Red Queen. I need to pay them another visit.”
Chapter 32
“Lord Ayton has asked if he may call on you,” Edmund told Catherine after breakfast the next day. He had followed her out into the garden. The day was bright and she had her notebook in her hands, ready to sit on the terrace and write.
She arched her eyebrows. “Lord Ayton?” Catherine was very glad Edmund had chosen not to drop this piece of information at the breakfast table. Aunt Cornelia would have been positively euphoric.
Edmund gave a short smile. “It seems you’re rather a sensation among my friends.”
Catherine forced a smile. “It seems so.”
What could possibly have compelled Lord Ayton to request my company?
She had felt their conversation earlier that week had been rather dull and uninspiring. Safe, but uninspiring.
She sat her notebook and inkpot on the terrace table and perched on the edge of a chair.
“I must say,” she said, looking up at Edmund. “This is rather a turn of events. The last time one of your friends wished to call on me, you practically chased him from the house.”
Edmund winced at the reminder. “Yes, well…You seemed rather…fragile back then. I didn’t think Lord Ramshay’s timing was particularly good. That’s all.”
Catherine realized her eyes were on the notebook. She hurriedly pulled them away. “And Lord Ayton’s timing?”
Edmund shrugged. “Well…It’s like Mother has been telling you. You can’t just sit in your room all day.”
No. I really cannot.
“You’re far too young and bright for that.”
Catherine didn’t feel bright. She felt a fool. But she was done wallowing in self-pity.
She pulled the stopper out of the ink pot
and gave Edmund a small smile. “Tell Lord Ayton I would be happy to see him.”
* * *
“I hope you don’t mind me calling on you, Miss Barnet,” said Lord Ayton when he arrived at the manor the following day. “I know you…” He hesitated. “I know you and my friend Lord Ramshay have recently spent some time together.”
Catherine felt her cheeks flush. She had not expected this afternoon to begin with a mention of the man she was doing her best to forget.
She had believed Patrick Connolly might be her passage out of the darkness that had fallen over her. But now she saw that being with him would only drag her deeper into a world she was doing her best to avoid. A world she had already seen far too much of, thanks to the poor judgement of her brother.
Was Lord Ramshay safe? she found herself wondering. Had those men who had come to his door and threatened him been calling again?
She tried to wrestle the thought away. She couldn’t involve herself in whatever dastardly plots Lord Ramshay was embroiled in. If there were men threatening him, he only had himself to blame. Surely after his father, he ought to have known better than to involve himself in such a world.
The day before, she’d scrawled all these thoughts into her notebook in the hope it might erase them from her mind. But it had only caused her to think about him more.
“Lord Ramshay will no longer be calling on me,” Catherine told Lord Ayton firmly. She nodded toward the window. “It’s a pleasant day today. Perhaps we might walk in the garden?”
“That sounds delightful.”
Lord Ayton offered her his arm. Catherine took it with a shy smile and walked with him out into the grounds. The sky was a brilliant blue, scattered with few cottony clouds, a faint breeze skimming over the grass. Catherine lifted her face upwards. The sun was warm against her cheeks, bringing a smile to her lips. She felt as though she were beginning to thaw after a long and turbulent winter.
She dared a sideways glance at Lord Ayton.
He was dressed neatly in a grey frock coat and silk scarf, his dark hair neatly trimmed. Catherine could not deny he was a handsome man, with his sharp, shaven jaw and piercing brown eyes. And yet he had none of that raw charm that hung around Lord Ramshay. He was far too perfect and polished for that.
Patrick Connolly, with his stubbled cheeks and slightly overgrown hair, had a strange magnetism to him that Catherine had been unable to pull away from. A strange magnetism that had had her lifting her skirts and moaning into his ear.
Stop thinking about Patrick Connolly!
She smiled at Lord Ayton, willing the color to disappear from her cheeks.
He was talking of his upcoming plans, she realized, to visit his family’s lands in the north. Leicester, had he said? Or was it Lincoln?
“I see,” she said, opting for as vague a response as possible. She forced herself to focus.
“It’s always beautiful this time of year,” Lord Ayton continued. “I make a point of visiting each spring. Of course, there are routine calls throughout the year as well. To see how things are faring. But I do enjoy the spring visits the most. The bluebells are quite stunning.”
“Spring visits,” said Catherine. “Yes, I imagine they are the most beautiful. Green trees and flowers and all…”
They were coming to the rose garden. Since Catherine had last been here, it had been trimmed back by the gardener and now the colorful flowers stood in tidy, even rows. Their scent was divine in the warm air, but she couldn’t help missing the wildness of the garden.
“It seems you have quite an array of flowers of your own,” said Lord Ayton. “Have you grown these yourself?”
They chatted idly as they made their way across the grounds, before retiring to the terrace for tea.
Lord Ayton reached over and pressed a tentative hand to Catherine’s wrist. “I’ve very much enjoyed our time together today, Miss Barnet. I wonder if you might permit me to see you again?”
Catherine glanced down at his fingers, resting against her bare, pale skin. There was nothing, she realized, no shallow breathing, no quickening of her heart. This was safe. Comfortable. Easy.
Not once that day had they spoken of subjects that had brought her close to tears. There had been none of the pitiful confessions and heartfelt discussions that seemed to eventuate when she was around Lord Ramshay. And that, she was sure, was a good thing. Surely the best way to forget everything Robert had said and done was to push it into the background. Do her best to forget it had ever happened.
“Yes, Lord Ayton,” she said. “I would very much like to see you again.”
With their tea and cake finished, she bade him farewell, then made her way back inside.
“Well?”
Catherine let out a cry of shock at the sound of Aunt Cornelia’s voice. She whirled around to find her aunt in the doorway, a grin plastered across her face.
“How was your afternoon?” she pressed, a wily grin in the corner of her lips. “Did you have a nice time with Lord Ayton?”
“Yes,” said Catherine. “Lord Ayton was a perfect gentleman.”
Aunt Cornelia gave a contented sigh. “Indeed. He always has been. I was glad to hear the two of you getting along so well. And I’m so glad you’ve decided to see him again.”
Catherine raised her eyebrows. “Were you listening in our conversation, Aunt?” she asked slyly.
Aunt Cornelia’s cheeks colored. “Of course not.” She flapped a glittering hand dismissively. “Don’t be so foolish.”
Catherine smiled to herself.
She had to admit it had been a pleasant afternoon.
Yes, this is the way to ease myself back into the world.
In the company of a handsome, well-behaved gentleman who did not have her speaking of difficult things. A man around whom she could keep herself under control.
That wild attraction she had felt for Lord Ramshay was frightening. If she had let herself follow it, who knew where it might have led? To his bed, certainly, but then where? Would she have been shackled forever to a man with his hands in the underworld? Or would she have begged forgiveness for her sins and hoped a worthier man might have taken pity on her?
She shook the thought away. It was too horrid to entertain. She let out a sigh of relief as she made her way upstairs. How narrowly she had avoided disaster and ruin.
Chapter 33
As Patrick set off for the Red Queen, a figure came bolting down the street toward him.
Edmund. His coat tails were flying and his mouth was open as he gulped down air.
“What are you doing here, Featherstone?” Patrick demanded.
Edmund stopped sprinting and hunched over, trying to catch his breath. “Couldn’t let you have all the fun now, could I?” he managed.
Patrick smiled crookedly. He was fairly sure he had never seen Edmund run before. “Is Ayton with you?” he asked.
Edmund shook his head. “I didn’t think to ask him.”
“Good. I suspect he’s growing rather tired of all these escapades. I’d hate to push the friendship too far.” He cut Edmund with hard eyes. “You ought to have stayed away too. I don’t want you putting yourself in danger any longer. If Thorne is to be believed, this Ghost fellow is trouble.”
“Is that why you set off without telling me?” said Edmund.
Patrick nodded.
“Don’t think to do that again,” Edmund said sternly. “You can’t go running around looking for this man on your own. You’ll end up dead.” He thumped Patrick on the arm. “We do this together, you understand?”
Patrick smiled. “I appreciate it, Featherstone. Very much.”
Edmund snorted. “I can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me about this.” He sounded decidedly put out.
“I’m sorry,” Patrick chuckled. He knew Edmund was enjoying this whole affair a little more than he ought to.
* * *
“You fellows again,” said the doorman, when they arrived at the Red Queen. “What do you want this ti
me?”
The club was quiet tonight, with just a few men scattered around the tables. Long shadows lay over the room and Patrick caught the floral scent of opium.
“A man named The Ghost,” he said, sliding coins from his pocket and pressing them into the doorman’s hand. “Do you know him?”
Rescued By A Wicked Baron (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 19
