His thoughts continued to drift.
That cursed prisoner. Holding the Baron of Ramshay hostage made this whole situation damnably more difficult. Prisoners were messy. A waste of valuable manpower.
I’ve a good mind to just kill the man.
Was it a wise idea? This syndicate had killed many men in the past, but they had been lowly men: thieves, smugglers and beggars. Never a member of the nobility.
There would be a certain pleasure to it, I can’t deny.
But would such an act cause unwanted attention? A dead baron would cause far more of a stir than a dead vagrant. Even if his body were tossed into the river never to be seen again, there would be far too many people to notice him missing. A parade of concerned housemaids and footmen and friends.
A certain concerned young lady perhaps?
How would Catherine Barnet act if Ramshay were to die? Would she come to see he was an unwilling participant in these underworld games? See the error of her ways and pine after her lost love forever?
The last thing I want to do is make a martyr of the man…
A knock at the door yanked him out of his thoughts.
“Thorne?” he called. “Is that you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Enter.”
Thorne shuffled inside in his ridiculously long coat. His head was drooped further than normal, his shoulders hunched. He looked damnably pathetic.
“Sir,” he began, his voice thin. “I’m afraid I have a little bad news.”
The Ghost rubbed his temple. This was doing little to help the throbbing of his head. “What kind of bad news?”
“Lord Ramshay, sir. I’m afraid he’s escaped.”
“Escaped?” The Ghost felt a surge of wild anger go through him. Never mind those concerned housemaids and footmen. Never mind Catherine Barnet.
I ought to have killed him when I had the chance.
* * *
Patrick sat around the dining table at Featherstone Manor the later that afternoon, clasping Catherine’s hand beneath the table. Edmund’s footmen bustled around them, refilling coffee cups and piling plates with ham and slice after slice of freshly-baked bread.
Patrick tried to force down a few mouthfuls out of courtesy. Before he’d left the townhouse, Mrs. Morgan had plied him with what he was sure was every item of food in the household. After not eating in two days, he had wolfed it all down hungrily. Now he was sure he’d burst if he even looked at another slice of bread.
“Groves will return to the underground passage, I’m sure of it,” said Edmund, sipping his tea edgily. His eyes were underlined in shadow, as though he, like Patrick, had managed little more than a few hours of sleep.
Patrick shook his head. “No. He’s too clever for that. He knows we’ll be looking for him there, surely.” He rubbed a hand across his chin, trying to order his thoughts. “He has a sister in Clerkenwell,” he said. “I’ve heard him speak of her before. Perhaps she may be able to tell us something.”
Edmund gave a wry smile. “You really think she’ll turn her brother in?”
“I don’t know,” said Patrick. “But it’s worth a try, surely.” He glanced at Catherine. A faint frown creased the bridge of her nose.
“The numbers on the ledger,” she said. “These coordinates, or whatever they may be. There has to be something to them.” She looked between Patrick and Edmund. “Perhaps Lord Ayton can help. Reading coordinates is a sailor’s business, is it not? He knew about the merchant markings. Perhaps he might understand how to read the numbers?”
Patrick hesitated. She was right, of course. Simon could well have information that could help them. But there was a reluctance in him to ask.
“I’m not sure, Catherine,” he said gently. “I’ve already put you and Edmund in such danger. Ayton has been a great help, but I can’t help but feel I’m asking too much of him.”
“I’ll not ask him to put himself in danger,” Catherine assured him. “He need not leave his house. I’ll simply ask if he has any information.”
Patrick began to pace. “All right. But I’m coming with you.”
She hesitated. “I don’t think that such a good idea.”
“Why not?”
A look of hesitation passed over her face, making Patrick stiffen.
“I ought to tell you something,” she murmured, glancing at Edmund. He eyed them for a moment, before reluctantly taking his coffee cup and shuffling out of the room.
Catherine looked back at Patrick and drew in her breath. “While we were apart, I…” She faltered.
“You what, Catherine?” he pushed gently. “It’s all right. Whatever it is you can tell me.”
She swallowed heavily. “I allowed Lord Ayton to court me.”
Patrick’s eyebrows shot up. “You did?”
“I’m so sorry,” she gushed. “So dreadfully sorry. He came to the house not long after the Viscount’s ball and I…I was angry and hurt. I thought you had lied to me.” She swiped hurriedly at her tears. “I’m so sorry, Patrick. There’s so much I need to ask your forgiveness for.” She looked up at him with glistening blue eyes.
Patrick shook his head. “No.” He lurched across his chair and pressed his lips to hers. “No, Catherine, you’ve done nothing wrong. I couldn’t blame you for thinking as you did.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “It’s not you I’m angry with.” He inhaled sharply. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps you ought to speak to Ayton without me.”
Catherine nodded. “Of course. I’ll let you know what we find.” She gave him a tiny smile, then disappeared from the room.
Patrick stared after her.
“You knew about this, I assume?” he asked, as Edmund crept meekly back into the room. “About Ayton’s courting of Catherine?” He tried to keep the anger out of his voice. He had had no claim on Catherine, he reminded himself. Ayton had as much right to court her as he did.
Still, he and Simon Moore had been friends for more than ten years. Patrick had assumed him a friend who might not make a play at the lady he loved. Or at least a friend who might have the courage to tell him of his intentions first.
Edmund nodded, looking rather like a scolded child. “I’m afraid I did.” He eyed Patrick apologetically. “I ought to have told you, I know. I’m sorry.”
Patrick shook his head. Shook his anger away. What did it matter? He had no fear of losing Catherine to Simon Moore, or anyone else for that matter.
Anyone other than The Ghost and his men…
The thought made his chest tighten with anxiety. Being in his life was a danger for Catherine. Putting a stop to The Ghost and his men had never been more pressing.
He brought his coffee cup to his lips, taking mouthful to steady himself.
“So then,” Edmund said finally, easing himself back into his chair. “While we’re on the subject of my cousin. You enjoyed her company this morning, I trust?”
“Ah,” said Patrick. “Yes.” He looked squarely at Edmund. Hoped his eyes gave nothing away.
Edmund raised an eyebrow. “You plan to make her your wife, I assume?” he said.
“I have every intention of marrying Catherine,” he said firmly. “The moment this nightmare is over.”
* * *
“Well,” said Lord Ayton, “I’d say this is a surprise, but I can’t say I didn’t expect you back here. Have your attempts to rescue Lord Ramshay from the depths of the underworld brought you back to my door again?”
Catherine winced at his sharpness. She knew herself responsible for it. She couldn’t blame him for his bitterness. “I’m afraid we need your help again,” she said. “If you’d be so kind.”
After a moment, Lord Ayton’s face softened. “Of course.” He stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter.
Edmund paused in the doorway, eyeing Catherine. In the carriage on the way to Lord Ayton’s house, they had discussed the possibility of Robert knowing something about the numbers.
“It makes sense doesn’t
it?” Catherine had said. “He was heavily involved in the smuggling syndicate. He made deliveries to the Red Queen several times.” She was surprised to find herself able to speak of Robert without the feeling of dread and heaviness in her stomach. Surprised at the lightness she was able to keep in her voice.
“You’re right,” said Edmund. “Perhaps I ought to pay him a visit.”
Catherine nodded. “You go to Newgate and see if Robert is able to offer any assistance. I’ll go to Lord Ayton and ask him if he can help.”
Lord Ayton looked at Edmund and raised his eyebrows. “You coming in, Featherstone?”
“My cousin has somewhere important to be,” Catherine told him. “He’s just a little concerned about leaving me here unaccompanied. As I’ve told him several times, this is rather a dire situation. It hardly feels the right time to worry about keeping up one’s appearance.”
“Indeed.” Lord Ayton chuckled, clapping a hand over Edmund’s shoulder. “Come on now, Featherstone,” said Simon. “Do as you need to. Miss Barnet is quite all right here. I shall be on my best behavior.”
Edmund hesitated. “Catherine? Are you certain?”
She flashed him a short smile. “Of course.”
He nodded. “I’ll back for you in a few hours.”
Lord Ayton watched as his carriage rattled down the street.
“I’m sorry about Edmund,” said Catherine as he ushered her inside. “He can be a little overprotective at times. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
Lord Ayton waved her apology away. But when he looked back at her, his eyes were dark with concern. “I don’t like you being involved in this mess, Miss Barnet,” he said seriously. “These men are dangerous. And I would hate to see anything happen to you.”
She managed a small smile. “I appreciate your concern, Lord Ayton. Truly. But this is something I need to do. I promise I’ve been nothing but careful.”
After a moment, Lord Ayton nodded resignedly. “I can see there’s little point in trying to convince you otherwise.”
“You’re right,” said Catherine. “There is little point.”
“Well,” he said after a moment, “perhaps we might have a little tea first? And then you can tell me all about why you’re here.” He gestured to a chair at the table in the parlor. “Please.”
Catherine sat, waiting patiently while Lord Ayton disappeared out of the room. He returned several moments later with a tea tray.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You’re making your own tea?”
Lord Ayton chuckled. “My housekeeper’s daughter is getting married today. It seems my entire household simply must attend.”
Catherine smiled. “It was very good of you to release them all for the day.”
Lord Ayton filled the cups, his fingers wrapped rather uncertainly around the handle of the teapot. He chuckled. “This is something of a challenge for me, I must admit. I’ve not often had the need to prepare my own tea. Rather pathetic, I know.”
Catherine took a mouthful. It tasted terribly bitter, but she managed a warm smile. “You’ve done a fine job.”
Lord Ayton smiled that smile she had come to know well. She had seen his eyes light this way many times before. Seen them light this way whenever she had greeted him, whenever she laughed at his jokes. She felt a fresh pang of guilt.
“Lord Ayton,” she said huskily, “I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I know I behaved dreadfully, flitting between you and Lord Ramshay the way I did.” She looked into her hands. “But it seems I’ve only just come to know my own heart.” Her voice came out softer than she had intended.
When she dared to look up at Lord Ayton, the light had disappeared from his eyes. He ran a finger around the top of his tea cup. “I understand,” he said finally. “You love Lord Ramshay. And one cannot control who they fall in love with.”
“Yes,” said Catherine. “I do love him. Very much.”
Lord Ayton gave her a small smile, so humble and tender that it made Catherine’s chest ache. “Then I hope the two of you will have a long and happy life together.”
She smiled, taking a sip of tea. “Thank you, Lord Ayton. That means so very much.”
A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over her, making her eyes heavy.
Lord Ayton frowned. “Miss Barnet? Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the crumpled page Patrick had stolen from The Ghost’s hideout. “These numbers,” she began. “Do they mean anything to you?”
* * *
Robert rubbed his eyes wearily at the sight of Edmund. “Did Ramshay send you?” he asked, as the guard unlocked the cell, letting his cousin inside.
“No,” said Edmund. “Well…in a way…”
“You’re looking for the man they call The Ghost.” Robert’s tone was accusatory.
“I’m just trying to help my friend.”
Robert shook his head. “You’re going to end up dead, Cousin. Take my word for it. Dead or locked up.” He began to pace across the filthy stone floor. “Let Ramshay fight his own battles.”
Edmund shook his head. “I can’t do that.”
Robert sighed. The muscles in his neck were knotted with tension. “I’ve already told Lord Ramshay all I can. I’ve already told him far too much. If The Ghost finds out what I’ve said, I’m a dead man.”
Edmund put a hand to his shoulder. “You’re safe in here, Robert. He can’t harm you with all these guards around.”
Robert laughed coldly. “You’ve no idea who you’re dealing with. He’s capable of anything. None of us are safe.”
Edmund let out his breath. Robert was scared, he could see that. But he needed answers. Patrick needed answers. So did Catherine.
“We’ve found some documents we believe belong to The Ghost. Outlining his smuggling activities. But we’re having trouble deciphering them. There are strings of numbers all over the ledgers. Catherine suggested you might know what they mean.”
Robert’s eyes flashed. “Catherine?” He shook his head. “No. No, Edmund, tell me she’s not involved in this.”
Edmund gave him a wry smile. “I tried to keep her out of it. But she’s stubborn. She cares very much for Lord Ramshay. She’s determined to help him.”
Robert shook his head violently. “Tell her to stop. This instant. Tell her I’ve ordered it.”
“She’s all right, Robert. She’s safe. She’s with Lord Ayton, asking for his help with the numbers.”
Robert’s eyes flashed. “She is what?”
“You don’t give your sister enough credit, Robert,” Edmund said shortly. “You never have. She’s more than capable of—”
“No. No, Edmund, you don’t understand.” The color was beginning to drain from Robert’s face. “Ayton, he…” He exhaled sharply, then looked up at Edmund with wide, flashing eyes. “For the love of God, Edmund, it’s Simon Moore. Simon Moore is The Ghost.”
Chapter 48
Edmund gave an incredulous laugh. “What in God’s name are you talking about, Robert? Simon Moore? That’s ridiculous. We know who The Ghost is. It’s Patrick’s butler.”
“His butler?” Robert shook his head emphatically. “No. You’re wrong.”
Edmund opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. “You’re serious,” he said finally.
“Of course I’m bloody serious!” Robert’s voice sparked. He began to pace. “Ayton was the one who got me involved in this mess in the first place. I’d never even set foot in the gambling halls before I got involved with him. We got talking at your New Year’s Eve gathering and he told me to join him at White’s. The gentleman’s club.” He gripped the bars of the cell, his knuckles draining of color. “That place was my downfall. I became obsessed with winning. I turned to theft when I lost so much I was draining the bank accounts. And that’s when Ayton’s men found me. Forced me to join their crime syndicate.”
“Ayton’s men?” Edmund repeated. “How do you know they were Ayt
on’s men?” Edmund’s thoughts began to knock together. None of this felt real. Robert was making it all up, he had to be. His time in prison had addled his mind, surely. Simon Moore, an underworld boss? Surely not. Simon Moore was a gentleman, a man of coffee houses and smooth brandy.
“How did I know they were Ayton’s men?” Robert’s voice was beginning to rise. “Because I bloody well saw him, Edmund! He’d be there each time a delivery of contraband came in. He’d be there overseeing the whole damn operation. As far as I could tell, I was the only one who knew who he really was. Everyone else just called him The Ghost.”
Rescued By A Wicked Baron (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 26
