Catherine smiled. “You’ll have a wonderful time, I’m certain.”
They were sitting at the tea house at the Vauxhall pleasure gardens, with slices of lavish cream cake in front of them. A waterfall was tinkling somewhere in the distance.
Aunt Cornelia pressed a hand over Catherine’s. “And you’ll be all right without me?”
“Of course, Aunt.” She smiled. “There’s no need to worry for me.”
And this, Catherine was coming to realize, was actually true. She hesitated.
“Aunt Cornelia?”
“Yes, child?”
“Have you noticed Edmund acting strangely of late?”
Aunt Cornelia took a delicate bite of cake and dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Strangely? Strangely how?”
Catherine hesitated. She did not want to cause trouble for Edmund, of course. But his strange behavior had been gnawing at her. Was it truly the love of a lady that had made him so excitable? Or was there something else going on?
Despite her best intentions, Catherine had been unable to push away the greatest of her fears.
Is Edmund involved in the underworld too? Were he and Robert entangled in the same sorry mess?
She didn’t think she could bear it.
“He doesn’t seem himself of late,” she told Aunt Cornelia. “What with all this boxing he’s doing. And going out late each evening. It’s not like him, is it?”
She was grateful when Aunt Cornelia gave an airy laugh. “He’s a young, unmarried man, my dear. He’s got to expend his energy somehow, does he not?”
Catherine smiled. “Yes, I suppose he does.”
Aunt Cornelia, seemingly fed up with delicacy, scooped an enormous forkful of cream into her mouth. “It’s high time that boy found a wife.” She waved a fork at Catherine. “And you may tell him I said that.”
Catherine laughed a little. Perhaps Aunt Cornelia was right. Perhaps she was worrying too much.
I cannot let the past determine my behavior, she reminded herself. She would not let herself become this doubting, untrusting person because of the way Robert and Lord Ramshay had treated her. She would see the best in Edmund, just as she had always done.
“And you?” Aunt Cornelia said, her eyes taking on the devious sparkle they always did when she sensed impending gossip. “Can we be expecting a wedding in the not-so-distant future?”
Catherine looked down, dragging her fork through the remains of her cake.
Lord Ayton had been calling on her regularly. Each of his visits had been delightfully pleasant, delightfully uncomplicated. When last he had seen her, Catherine had even let him kiss her, a chaste peck on the lips that had brought a flush of color to her cheeks and nothing else.
Though he had not broached the subject yet, she felt certain he planned to ask for her hand soon.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted, her voice coming out softer than she had intended.
“Not sure?” Aunt Cornelia repeated. She slumped back in her chair dramatically. “What in heaven is there not to be certain about, child? You’ve a devilishly handsome marquess who has eyes only for you. Why would you not wish to be his wife?” She looked at Catherine pointedly. “Especially given your family’s background.”
Catherine nodded acceptingly. She pressed the fork into the cream and watched it ooze between the prongs.
She knew Aunt Cornelia was right. When she’d sat in the courtroom and watched Robert carted off to prison, marrying a marquess had felt like the greatest of unreachable dreams. Lord Ayton would be a fine, caring husband, she knew. He would give her a life of security. With luck, he would give her a fine family.
She put down her fork. “Aunt Cornelia? Can I ask you something?”
Her aunt leaned forward. “Of course, child.”
Catherine drew in her breath. “Did you love Uncle William?”
“Yes,” said Aunt Cornelia. “Very much. He was a wonderful man.”
Catherine nodded in agreement. “How did you feel when you were around him?” she asked. “I know he made you happy, but…” She faltered. How could she ask her aunt what was truly on her mind? Had she felt the same blazing attraction to her husband Catherine felt toward Lord Ramshay?
“But what, Catherine?” Aunt Cornelia pushed.
“But did your heart race when you saw him?” she blurted. “Did you ever feel as though you couldn’t breathe for wanting him so much?”
Did you spend your nights lying in the dark, trying to imagine the feel of his hands on you?
Aunt Cornelia gave an airy laugh, flapping her hand dismissively. “Oh Catherine. My goodness. Whoever have you been speaking to?”
Catherine bit her lip. She regretted asking. She felt color rising in her cheeks.
“No,” said Aunt Cornelia finally. “I did not feel as though I had trouble breathing when I saw your Uncle William. Such a thing would hardly be wise, now would it? It hardly seems the basis of a successful marriage.”
Catherine forced a smile. “No Aunt. I don’t suppose it does.”
Chapter 38
Edmund had not heard from Patrick since he had disappeared in the back of the smugglers’ coach.
He was feeling decidedly nervous about it. Edmund had sent several messages to his home and each had gone unanswered. Finally, frustrated, he made his way to the townhouse.
“Lord Ramshay is not here, My Lord,” said his butler. “In fact, I’ve not seen him today.”
Edmund felt a rush of fear go through him. “You’ve not seen him today?”
He eyed the butler distrustfully. Was he telling the truth? Or was the man somehow involved in this whole sorry affair?
“Lord Featherstone?” Patrick’s elderly housekeeper appeared behind the butler. “Perhaps we might speak?”
“Yes, of course.” Edmund fixed the butler with a glare that told him he was excused.
The man disappeared upstairs, leaving Edmund and the housekeeper alone in the entrance hall.
“Do you know something?” he asked her, more brusquely than he had intended. His anxiety was starting to get the better of him.
The housekeeper wrung her wrinkled hands together. “I don’t know where Lord Ramshay gone,” she said, her voice low. “But he asked for food to take with him. And I know whatever he’s doing involves those dreadful men who came to the house.”
Edmund nodded. “When did he leave?”
“Yesterday,” said the housekeeper. “I keep glancing out the window, hoping to see him walking back up the path. I hate the thought of him out there doing what he’s doing.”
Yesterday…So Patrick had returned home after following the coach. What had he seen to make him go out searching again?
And where has he gone?
The smugglers’ coach, Edmund decided. That was the key. He had to find out where it had gone. Had to find out what Patrick had seen. If he went back to the Red Queen, would he have a chance of witnessing another delivery?
Could he pay the doorman for more information?
No, he decided.
I don’t think I can push that doorman any further…
He nodded his thanks to Patrick’s housekeeper. Leaped back in the cab and instructed the driver to take him to Simon’s manor.
* * *
“I’m sorry sir, Lord Ayton is not here,” said the butler.
Good Lord, where are all my friends?
Edmund rubbed his eyes in frustration. “When is he expected back?”
“I’m not sure, sir. He didn’t say where he was going. Perhaps I can pass on a message?”
Edmund hesitated. Was it a waste of time to wait for Simon to show himself? Patrick was likely in danger.
But I’ve no idea where to look for him…
And then came that other thought that Edmund was unable to deny.
I’m too afraid to go searching on my own…
He strode inside the manor. “I’ll wait,” he told the butler.
“Very good, sir. Shall I have some tea b
rought to you?”
“Tea, no,” said Edmund. “I need something a little stronger.”
* * *
It was two hours before Simon showed himself. He strode into the parlor and shrugged off his coat.
“Featherstone. What are you doing here?” He did not sound entirely pleased to see him.
Edmund ignored his sharp tone. “I’m afraid Ramshay is in trouble.”
Simon rubbed his eyes, tossing his coat over the back of a chair. “What’s he gone and done now?”
“I don’t know,” Edmund admitted. “But his butler says he’s not been home for some time.”
“Perhaps he taken himself to The Lady’s Grace,” Simon said wryly. “Trying to forget his sorrows in the arms of that busty redhead.”
Edmund glared. “Truly?”
“I’m sorry.” Simon sat heavily in the armchair opposite and poured himself a glass from the whisky bottle on the table. “Look,” he said, taking a careful sip. “I care about Ramshay. I do. But at some point, we’ve got to start thinking about self-preservation. We’ve got to start putting ourselves first.”
“You’re afraid,” Edmund said accusingly.
“Afraid? No, I…” Simon faded out. He drummed his fingers against the side of his glass. “It’s about Catherine,” he admitted finally. “She’s becoming suspicious. She’s starting to suspect you’re involved in more than just the occasional boxing match.”
Edmund hummed noncommittally. He knew Simon was right. Catherine was no fool. She had already watched her brother’s fall from grace. What would it do to her if she believed her cousin was following the same path?
“Something has caused Catherine to turn away from Ramshay,” Simon said. “And there’s every chance it was his underworld connections.”
Edmund shook his head. “No. Catherine doesn’t know a thing about that. How could she?”
“I don’t know. But if she comes to suspect I’m also involved in such things, there’s every chance she will turn away from me too.” He met Edmund’s eyes. “I couldn’t stand that, Featherstone. I’ve come to care for your cousin very much.” He took a gulp of whisky. “I plan to ask her to marry me.”
Edmund’s eyebrows shot up. “And were you planning to tell me about this?”
“I just did,” said Simon. He raised his eyebrows at Edmund’s angry expression. “We’ve been friends for more than a decade, Featherstone. Surely you wouldn’t forbid me from marrying your cousin.”
Edmund said nothing. He looked away, rubbing his chin pensively. He could feel rough stubble begin to appear. It was a rare occasion when he forgot to shave.
It must be my concern over Ramshay.
“Featherstone?” Simon pushed. “Surely you wouldn’t forbid me from marrying your cousin?”
Edmund swallowed heavily. He knew Patrick would never forgive him if he let Catherine walk down the aisle with another man. Especially if that man was Simon Moore.
But his friendship with Ramshay was hardly the issue here. Simon, Edmund knew, would provide Catherine with a secure future, a fine title. As Simon’s wife, his cousin would want for nothing.
“No,” he said finally, reluctantly. “No, I would not forbid it.”
I would not forbid it, but I do not have to like it.
He stood abruptly. “So I assume I can no longer count on your support?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I need to look for Ramshay. And if you’ll not help me, I’ll have no choice but to go alone.”
Simon gave him apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry, Featherstone. Really, I am. But Catherine is just too important.”
Edmund gave a short nod. “I understand,” he said brusquely. “I can see myself out.”
Chapter 39
Patrick opened his eyes. His head was pounding and his mouth felt dry.
Where am I?
He was lying on his side on a cold floor, nothing but stone and dust beneath his head. Ropes bound his wrists and ankles. He could feel a patch of dried blood on the side of his head.
He struggled against the bindings, feeling the rope bite into the bare skin on his arms. He stopped thrashing. Such a thing would only exhaust him.
He lay back on his side and listened. He could hear distant voices. Men. Could not make out what they were saying. Somewhere on the other side of him, he heard the thud of barrels.
The docks? Am I still at the docks?
He tried to glance around him. The building was large and dark. Cold wind was gusting through the gaps beneath the door. He could just make out the inky shapes of crates lined up against the walls.
The warehouse?
Patrick took a long breath, trying to slow his racing heart. It would do him no good to panic.
This was where he needed to be, he reminded himself. Here at the docks, waiting for The Ghost to show himself.
This is where I need to be, yes, but not trussed up like a pudding. If The Ghost shows himself, he’ll kill me the moment I see his face.
* * *
Walking alone through Seven Dials, Edmund was quickly coming to realize, was among the most terrifying things he had ever done.
He had been a quivering mess when he had slunk into the Red Queen, giving an apologetic nod to the doorman. Had been even more hesitant when he had crept through the doors of The Lady’s Grace and pressed the redhead for information.
There had been no sign of Patrick anywhere. If any of the colorful creatures who inhabited this place knew what had happened to him, they were keeping it to themselves.
Now, exhausted and hopeless, Edmund was standing at the sundial, peering into the maze of streets and wondering how in heaven he was going to get out of this place.
Panic had taken over. He could not remember which way he had come, which way back out. Take the wrong street and he’d end up in the slums of St. Giles.
Edmund glanced about him edgily. Rain had begun to fall, emptying the streets and sending rivers of muck gushing through the gutters. The wet cobblestones glistened in the flickering light of the streetlamps.
A gang of men came strolling up the street with their eyes on him, their faces twisted into leering smiles.
Edmund was also quickly coming to realize that Seven Dials was not a place where a wise man stood still.
“You lost, my friend?” called one of the men, managing to sound anything but friendly.
“No.” Edmund put his head down and began to walk away from the men, praying the street would take him toward the theaters and not into the rookery. Water ran down the back of his neck.
The men were following him. He could tell, even with his eyes down. He shivered with a mixture of fear and cold.
He stuck a hand into his pocket and felt for his pistol. Would he have the courage to use it? He doubted it. Even if his life was in danger, Edmund felt certain he would not have it in him to leave a dead man in his wake. Besides, who knew how many weapons those men had among them? Pull the trigger on one and he’d be dead before he had a chance to reload.
He began to run. He looked a fool, he knew, but what did that matter? He charged through the street, his boots sliding over the wet stones. When he reached the end of the narrow alley, he saw the lights of the theater district flickering ahead of him. He let out his breath in relief. Then he kept running.
Finally, he slowed, hunching to catch his breath. His lungs were blazing and his heart was knocking hard against his ribs.
Damn Ayton to hell. How could he have left me to do this alone?
* * *
Catherine was watching out her bedroom window when she saw her cousin stumbling up the front path. She pressed her lips together. Edmund was in a state. She could tell even in the darkness. His steps were crooked and his shoulders were hunched. Though it was raining heavily, he wore no hat.
Something was definitely amiss. And she was determined to find out what.
She pulled on her robe and hurried downstairs. With Aunt Cornelia away visiting her sister an
d the staff all sleeping, the house was dark and quiet. She lit a lamp in the entrance hall and stood by the door to greet her cousin.
“Catherine.” Edmund’s eyes flickered in surprise at the sight of her. Water was running down the side of his face and his coat looked soaked through. His shoulders were hunched and his head drooped. The bruise on his face seemed darker against his cold skin. He reminded Catherine of a wet cat.
Rescued By A Wicked Baron (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 21
