“She’s not here.” Aware of the pain Hadleigh had inflicted on Beatrice, it took all of Wick’s willpower to bridle his temper and extend a hand to his beloved’s kin. “I am Wickham Murray.”
“I know who you are.” The duke’s midnight blue gaze slid contemptuously over him. “The papers have detailed your relationship with my sister quite clearly, and I will deal with you later—after I’ve spoken with Beatrice.”
“As I’ve said, she is not here,” Wick said curtly.
“Where the devil is she then?”
“That’s what I’m trying to bloody figure out.”
“You lost my sister?”
The accusation was not only galling, it was damned ironic: Hadleigh, of all people, was accusing Wick of not looking after Beatrice’s welfare? When it had been Hadleigh’s actions, his lust for revenge, that was at the root of her troubles?
Wick didn’t blame Beatrice for wanting nothing to do with her brother. He knew she feared that Hadleigh would wreak even more havoc were he to get involved. Wick was not afraid of the bastard, however.
“Your sister left, and yes, I accept some responsibility for that,” he clipped out. “The papers are full of lies, and I should have protected her better against them. But you, Your Grace, bear your share of blame as well for her situation. I think you and I both know what I’m referring to.”
Hadleigh stared at Wick, his gloved hand tightening on his walking stick. Although the duke was still a young man, his life of dissipation had left its mark. Deep lines were carved around his mouth, and his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, drink, or drugs—probably all three. Hollows stood out beneath his cheeks, and his well-tailored clothes did not hide the gauntness of his tall frame.
“That is between my sister and me,” he said with lethal softness. “You had best not interfere.”
Wick couldn’t be bothered to mince words with the pompous ass. “Your sister has been subjected to countless attacks because of Grigg,” he said flatly.
The mask of loftiness slipped. A stricken look came into Hadleigh’s red-rimmed eyes.
“H-how is that possible?” he stammered. “Grigg’s dead.”
“I don’t have time to get into the details,” Wick said with disgust. “Suffice it to say, Beatrice was not safe at her estate. I brought her to London to protect her—and to track down clues to her enemy.”
“Why didn’t she come to me? I would have helped. I would have done anything to make up for…”
Hearing the pain in the duke’s voice, the remorse of a man who knows he’s done wrong even if he can’t admit it, Wick would have felt compassion, under ordinary circumstances. But now he was impatient: he didn’t have time for the bastard’s soul-searching…he needed to find Beatrice.
“Those clues led us to Grigg’s only child: his son, Thomas Franklin Grigg, who we believe is using the alias of Frank Varnum. Varnum is the curate of the church close to Beatrice’s estate, and she may have gone back to protect her people from him. I have men out looking for her, but if they don’t find her, I’m going straight to Staffordshire so I would appreciate it if you didn’t delay me any further.”
Hadleigh stared at him. “Varnum isn’t Grigg’s only child.”
“Pardon?” An icy hand gripped Wick’s nape, premonition prickling through him. “Our investigator said that he had only the one heir.”
“One legitimate child, yes. But he had a by-blow with his French mistress…a daughter. Her name was Marie, I believe.”
The frost spread to Wick’s gut. “What do you know about Marie?”
“Not much. After what…happened with Grigg, I sent money, anonymously, to the wife. I tried to find the mistress, but she’d disappeared, taking the girl with her.” Hadleigh swallowed. “I know that Grigg’s son eventually went into the Church, and a couple of years ago, my man briefly picked up the daughter’s scent. She disappeared before he could approach her, but I suppose it was too late for that. At any rate, she’d found herself a respectable trade.”
“Doing what?” Wick asked…but he already knew.
“She was in service. A lady’s maid, I believe.”
38
Bea opened her eyes. Her vision was fuzzy, her mind too.
All she registered was dimness, the overwhelming acridity of coal.
Where am I? she thought groggily.
She tried to remember where she’d last been…the coach heading for Camden Manor. Was she in a carriage now? She attempted to move, realizing with a jolt of panic that she couldn’t. She was bound…to a column, rope winding around her chest, arms, and legs. A handkerchief was tied around her mouth, muffling the fearful cry that rose in her throat.
What is happening? Who did this to me?
She gazed wildly around, her skull rocking against the pole as she scanned her environs. There was just enough light to make out the long rectangular room with blackened brick walls and windows covered with soot. She made out vague shapes through the glass; it seemed like she was above the level of the street. The ceiling was high, some sixteen feet above her…and for some reason it had a large rectangular hole cut into it, framing a patch of dusky sky.
She squinted upward: were those…railway tracks running along the edges of the opening?
Closing her eyes, she listened, trying to gain additional clues to her whereabouts. She heard…waves? Ambient sloshing against the banks, distant cries—human or gulls, it was difficult to tell. But it seemed that she was near water, the Thames or a canal perhaps.
How had she arrived here without knowing? The light suggested that it was dusk, so she’d been unconscious for some time. Had she been drugged? The last thing she remembered was being in the carriage with Lisette…drinking tea.
Sweet heavens, had her tea been poisoned?
Panic thrummed as the shadows deepened with startling swiftness. In the darkness that spread through the room like pitch, frantic theories raced through Bea’s head. Was Frank Varnum in London? Had he somehow managed to drug her—oh, Dear God, what had happened to Lisette? The notion of yet another innocent being hurt because of her made her renew her frantic struggles.
The rope only dug deeper. She was trapped.
In those dark moments, her thoughts went from escape to Wick.
By now, he’d probably read her letter and, knowing him, he’d gone after her. He was likely on his way to Staffordshire by now, with no idea that she was here, trussed up in some dark warehouse, awaiting an even darker end.
Moisture sprung to her eyes as she realized that she would die in the same solitary state in which she’d lived. With sudden clarity, she saw how stupid she’d been to leave Wick, how she’d been lying to herself. She’d convinced herself that she had to go back to Camden Manor for his sake, for the sake of her tenants…when she’d really done it for herself.
Because she was scared. Terrified of the depth of her love for him, the man who’d scaled not only the wall of her estate but the one she’d built around her heart. She was so afraid of losing him—of losing the greatest happiness of her life—that she’d caused it to happen through her own foolish actions.
I love you, Wickham Murray.
Desperate resolve filled her to say those words to him in person. She’d waited her entire life for him, and she wasn’t giving up on her dreams. Not when he’d shown her they could be real.
Voices came from outside. Footsteps up a stairwell. The sound of a lock clicking, squealing hinges. Bea tensed as a figure walked toward her, his bulky form limned by the lantern he was holding. When he was close enough, she recognized him—the port-wine stain on his jaw, the protruding brow and leering features.
Ralph Palmer reached out and yanked off her gag.
She let out a scream—the sound abruptly cut off when he backhanded her. The metallic taste of pain flooded her mouth, her vision blurring.
“Try that again, and I’ll won’t go easy on you the next time,” Palmer said. “Ain’t no point in screaming. No one’s ’ere to �
�elp.”
“Why are you doing this?” She took a serrated breath, raised her head to look at him. “Because I threw you off my property?”
His laugh was nasty. “You’re a domineering bitch, but that ain’t the reason.”
“Then what is?”
The door opened again, a blonde woman with a lantern advancing, the dimness obscuring her features. Palmer went to meet her halfway, the two of them kissing with blatant sexuality before the woman broke away and came to stand in front of Bea.
It took Bea a moment to get past her shock. “Lisette?”
“Oui, you stupid whore, it is me.”
“I…I don’t understand,” Bea stammered. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you killed my father, you hideous bitch.”
“Your father? Who…” Understanding slammed into Bea. “You’re Grigg’s daughter?”
“The one and only. Born to the woman he loved, not the ugly hag he had to marry.”
Lisette abandoned her French accent, sounding like a different woman entirely. She looked and acted like one too. It was as if she’d shed her skin, showing her true reptilian side.
Catching Bea’s gaze on her hair, she said with a wide smile, “Like my coiffure? This is a wig for now, but once I dispense with you, I look forward to returning to my natural roots. Ralph prefers me as a blonde, don’t you, lover?”
“I’ll take you anyway I can ’ave you, dove,” Ralph said with a slavish smile.
“And you’ll have me soon,” Lisette cooed. “Right after I deal with the murderess.”
“I didn’t kill your father,” Bea said desperately.
“Oh, but you did.” Her former maid gave a little shake of the head. “You poked your haughty nose where it did not belong, and that led to my father’s disgrace and death. But that’s the aristocracy for you, as Papa liked to say. Always lording it over the hard-working middle class.”
“I wasn’t lording it over your father. He was beating a boy—”
“Shut your gob, or I’ll have my Ralph shut it for you.”
Ralph cracked his knuckles in readiness, and Bea swallowed.
“As I was saying, your outburst seven years ago cost my papa everything. Your damned brother ruined Papa’s reputation and his living until finally Papa had only one honorable way out.” Tears glimmered in Lisette’s eyes…but they were tears of rage bordering on madness. “He was going to marry my maman, you know. She was so beautiful—he told us he was saving up for the day when he didn’t need his witch of a wife’s connections. Then he would divorce her and take us, his true family, to France and start anew. But you ruined all that. Instead of that beautiful dream, I lived a nightmare.” Lisette shoved her face in Bea’s. “Do you know what happened to me after Papa died—do you?”
Trembling at the other’s hostility, Bea shook her head.
“Maman grew afraid that your brother the duke would come after us, so she fled with me. We had no money, no friends, and she had to sell her only possession—her beautiful body—to survive. Maman was delicate, could never survive such a disgraceful life. She died not long after, leaving me, a sixteen-year-old girl, to fend for herself. Do you know what a sixteen-year-old does to survive, my lady?”
“I’m sorry,” Bea whispered. “So sorry for what you suffered. But it was not my doing.”
“It was all your doing, bitch!” Lisette slapped her, so hard that she saw stars. “I whored because of you. I, a gentleman’s daughter, had to fight to survive in the worst slums of the worst cities. Until finally I got myself a regular patron, a valet in a gentleman’s house who convinced the lady’s maid to train me. I wrote myself a few letters of recommendation, and thus my new career began. I saved enough money to return to London…where I met my dear Ralph.”
She stroked Ralph’s chin, and he purred. “I knew then and there I had the partner I needed to carry through my life’s work.”
“Anyfin’ for you, my little cabbage,” he said.
“After gathering some funds—revenge doesn’t pay for itself, you know,” Lisette said, chuckling at her own joke, “we headed off together to Staffordshire where a little bird had told me you’d gone. And by little bird, I mean the investigator I hired to find your whereabouts.”
And by “gathering some funds” she means stealing from David Palmer’s workshop...and God knows what else she and Ralph Palmer have done.
Bea was beginning to see the depth of Lisette’s lunacy, the folie à deux between her and her lover. Both Lisette and Ralph believed that Lisette could do no wrong, that her actions were entirely justified, no matter who she hurt. The pair was mad, living in a shared, twisted universe… and Bea needed to find a way to escape.
Perhaps Wick would figure out that she wasn’t on the way back to Staffordshire. Knowing him, he’d do a thorough check of the coaching inns on the route. He’d find it suspicious that she hadn’t checked in. Hope and determination filled her.
Keep Lisette talking. Buy time. Find out their plans.
“So you pretended you’d been beaten to get my sympathy,” Bea said.
“It worked like a charm, didn’t it? You hired me on the spot.” Lisette smirked. “Poor Ralph. Giving me that shiner hurt him more than it hurt me.”
“I ne’er want to ’urt my dove again,” Ralph said with a shudder.
More pieces fell together for Bea. “When Gentleman Henderson caught the two of you in the barn, Ralph wasn’t assaulting you, was he?”
“No, but I had to claim that he was in order to avoid suspicion about our relationship.” Lisette wagged her finger at her lover as if he were a disobedient dog. “I told you that it wasn’t the proper time for a tickle.”
Ralph gave her a pleading look. “But I missed you, my princess. I couldn’t resist.”
“You cannot resist a great many things, it seems. Including trying to get money from those factory owners,” Lisette said sharply. “That little ploy left a trail leading straight to us.”
“I thought it was a good idea,” he whined.
“Don’t think, Ralph. It’s not your strong suit.”
“Whate’er you say, my treasure,” he said in conciliatory tones.
Lisette returned her attention to Bea. “You weren’t the worst employer I ever worked for, I’ll grant you that. You were always so grateful for anything I could do to make you less beastly.”
Bea wouldn’t let herself be baited. “Why didn’t you just murder me and get your revenge? You had ample opportunity.”
“Did you think I would let you get off that easily?” Lisette’s smile was sly. “Oh no, Lady Beatrice Wodehouse, you deserved to suffer. To know fear like I did. To feel pain like I did.”
“You sent the note, set the barn on fire. The pocket watch we found…it was yours.”
“That was an unfortunate loss. My one memento of my dear papa. He met my maman at the Hellfire Club, you know. At the end, he didn’t have much to bequeath, but he left the watch to her…a symbol of their love. She never sold it, even when we were in dire straits. When she died, she left it to me. And I kept it close to my heart, a reminder of the vengeance owed to me.”
“And Fancy? What did she do to earn your vengeance?”
Lisette gave her a reproving look. “She chose to be your friend.”
Anger built in Bea, edging out fear. On principle alone, she couldn’t let this lunatic win.
“What about the fire at the Ellerbys?” she pressed. “They’re good people, just trying to make a livelihood—”
“Get off your high horse, you bitch. There was no fire. I forged that note from your butler to get you to leave with me.”
Bea allowed herself a moment’s relief that Mrs. Ellerby had not been harmed.
“What about Frank Varnum?” she asked. “He’s your half-brother, isn’t he? Was he involved?”
“You think that pious twit could have come up with this plan?” Lisette scoffed. “Varnum has nothing to do with this. He doesn’t know about me, although
I know plenty about him. Papa always said his son was a useless milksop, and Varnum proved it by shedding Papa’s name and legacy, as if it were something to be ashamed of.”
Bea sent silent apologies to Mr. Varnum for doubting him.
“Wick will be looking for me,” she said aloud. “I left him a note, and he knows I left with you—”
“This note, you mean?”
Lisette removed Bea’s letter from the hidden pocket of her skirts. She tore it in two, letting the halves plummet…Bea’s hopes along with them.
“I’m afraid Mr. Murray will think you quite rude for leaving without saying goodbye,” the maid said. “But given the brouhaha about the two of you in the papers, he’ll probably assume that your departure is your way of ending your affair.”
“He knows I wouldn’t do that to him.” Bea’s throat clenched. She couldn’t bear for Wick to think that she could be so callous with his feelings, not when he meant everything to her.
Why, oh why, didn’t I tell him I loved him?
“If I were him, I wouldn’t bother looking for a scarred lover who just ran off—and who destroyed my company before doing so,” Lisette said with a sneer. “I might just have a drink, lick my wounds, and seek solace in other ways. London has so many lovely diversions.”
Bea pushed back despair. Don’t let her poison your thoughts. Concentrate.
“What do you plan to do with me?” she demanded. “Why am I here?”
“Alas, my game, as enjoyable as it has been, cannot last forever. It’s time to end it.” Lisette’s smile was sweet and deranged. “To end you.”
* * *
Wick received news from the men canvassing the area. A pedestrian had seen a travelling coach drive into the lane behind the house around the time Bea had gone missing.
The witness said he’d seen a maid descend, stopping to exchange a rather lurid embrace with the driver, who had a distinct red mark on his face like a burn, which he then covered with a scarf. The maid had disappeared into the house, returning a few minutes later with a young lady, the two of them dashing into the coach. The witness added indignantly that he’d nearly been run over by the vehicle as it barreled out of the lane.
The Duke Redemption Page 29
