What A Gentleman Wants (34 page)

Hannah started, and lifted the curtain to peer out. The fog was drifting in thicker now, and streetlamps were much scarcer in this part of town. “What will we do, David?”

“You,” he said with a stern look, “will follow my lead. Marcus will have my head for bringing you into this, so don’t make it worse for me by getting hurt. Remember, he is David. Call me Exeter, or nothing at all. You’re supposed to be angry at him for being such an idiot”—David grimaced—“and endangering your daughter. Don’t say too much, and don’t look at Marcus any more than you have to. Your heart is in your eyes when you do that.”

Hannah blushed. “All right. I’ll do my best.”

He threw her a glance over his shoulder, as he turned to the window again. “You’ll do fine. Trust me.”

She swallowed nervously. There was one last thing worrying her, something they couldn’t do a thing about. “What will Marcus do? What if they discover he’s not you, and you’re not he?”

David grinned. “I can’t answer for what Marcus will do, but if he’s smart, he’ll play a half-drunk, surly ne’er-do-well ready for his wealthy, powerful brother to step in and save his skin again.” She shivered as the carriage slowed to a halt David let the curtain fall and shrugged. “Only fair, don’t you think, after all the times he’s saved me? Are you ready?” Hannah nodded, and he pushed open the door.

Marcus had found David’s assailants without much difficulty. Two hulking shadows descended on him almost the minute he set foot out of the hired hack. Pushed and jostled, protesting loudly the whole way, he allowed himself to be directed down a narrow, twisted lane past hulking warehouses to a falling-down building right on the water’s edge. The docks groaned and creaked behind it, and the faint sound of the tide lapping at the pilings reached his ears. An old harbormaster’s lodge, he guessed. No sooner had he stumbled through the door than two more thugs had leaped forward to shove him into a chair, then bind him to it. Water from the leaking roof dripped down the back of his neck, and the ropes bit into his wrists.

As he sat there, protesting for appearances’ sake, a fifth man strolled in, a short, stout man with bushy blond hair, an enormous red nose, and a cruel, twisted mouth. Without a word he sat in the other chair. This must be Rourke. His accomplices flexed their arms threateningly.

“Why din’t ye keep yer appointment?” one of them sneered.

Marcus let his head loll to one side and pasted a smirk on his face. “Why, I was taking advantage of my brother’s hospitality. He’s got the finest stock of whiskey…”

One man cuffed him on the back of the head as the others snorted, laughing at him in contempt. “Well, now that y’ve had yer drink, ye’ll be ready’t‘ take yer medicine like a man, I ’ope.”

Marcus heaved a sigh, as if the whole thing were painfully boring, even though his ears rang from the clout. “Yes. Right. But see, I know you really want money. It’s rather unsporting of you to steal a child to get it, I must say, but now that it’s done, shall we fix a price? My brother will pay, of course.”

All of them suddenly went quiet. Rourke leaned forward in his chair. “The child?” he asked suspiciously.

Marcus nodded. “The old stick’ll give good value. His wife’s child, and all that.”

Rourke glanced at his henchmen. They turned and left the room, although Marcus didn’t doubt they were right outside the door. “He wants the child back, does ‘e?” Rourke murmured. “What about you?”

Marcus pulled a face. “Give her back. She screams and cries; never quiet. Makes Marcus’s life a living hell, so why he wants her back I don’t know. Must be to keep her grace happy.”

“No,” said Rourke with a curl of his lip. “What would ‘e pay to have
you
back?”

Marcus pretended to think. “Two shillings?”

Rourke’s mouth curled further, into a menacing smile. “Nah. You’re worth more’n that. You’d better ‘ope, anyway.” He stood suddenly. “All right. We’ll send back the brat, in due time. It just remains to be seen what to do with you.”

Marcus sighed again and shifted his legs. “You could cut them all out, you know. We could make a deal, just between the two of us.” Rourke’s soulless black eyes rested on him.

“Nah.” The twisted grin flashed again. “Not just yet.”

Marcus thought hard. He didn’t dare mention Molly again, even though he was desperate to. Rourke didn’t seem to be in any hurry to dispose of him, though, or to make any demands. In fact, he seemed to be… waiting. For what? Or whom?

He considered again David’s words. A counterfeiting ring that worked through a tailor’s shop, serving gentlemen. Forged notes passed to the upper class. A maid in his own household spying. What did it all mean? Why had they taken Molly?

He knew he must be the real focus of all this, somehow; as far as anyone knew, David had never even seen Molly. Celia or Rosalind would have been a more logical choice if these men wanted someone to hold over David’s head. So he, Marcus, was the one they really wanted, but why? Rourke hadn’t batted an eye at the mention of money. Something Lily had been looking for in his study? Perhaps he should have heeded Hannah’s instinct to call the maid down and question her.

So they were waiting. He refused to think about Hannah, how she was or what she was feeling. Hopefully Rosalind had persuaded her to drink something so she could sleep. If all went well, Molly would be safely home by the time she woke. If all went really well, he would be home in time to wake her with the news.

One of the men outside opened the door after a while, poking his head in. He murmured something to Rourke, whose eyebrows went up, then he slowly nodded. The door closed for a second, then opened again. Marcus looked up and saw, with a jolt of astonishment, himself.

Marcus had been keenly aware, his whole life, of each and every difference between him and his brother. They had been hammered into him from an early age: he was the heir, David was the spare. He was the responsible one, David was the scoundrel. He must always look out for David, and David must always be in trouble. And yet, here he was, tied to a chair by some very shady characters, and there was David, looking as proper as could be, right down to the lady on his arm.

At the sight of Hannah, Marcus tensed. What the bloody hell was she doing here, he wondered furiously. He couldn’t stop David from jumping headfirst into trouble, but he’d wring his brother’s neck for bringing her here. He couldn’t bear to think of any-thing happening to her, and for the first time Marcus felt a chill of fear. He didn’t know what David was about, but if it went wrong, and Hannah got hurt…

He forced his eyes away from her, to David. His brother stood staring down at him with cool, expressionless eyes. He held himself stiffly erect, his arm barely crooked at Hannah’s hand. He looked like…

It hit Marcus then. David was playing him, just as he was playing David. David had posed as him before, of course, but never for a selfless reason. Marcus didn’t agree with Hannah being here, but he had no choice but to play along now. He slouched in the chair and huffed, “About bloody time,” by way of greeting.

David’s eyebrow arched, slowly. Indeed,“ he said in a chilly voice. ”Perhaps if you had seen fit to notify me of your intentions, it would not have taken so long to find you.“ He flicked a dismissive glance at the two men lurking in the doorway behind him. ”Leave us.“

Rourke climbed to his feet. “Not just yet, mates,” he said. “What brings you here, Yer Grace?”

David’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “We both know the answer to that.”

“How could you?” said Hannah then in a deeply disappointed voice. Marcus avoided meeting her eyes. If he looked at her too long, he would surely give himself away.

“Didn’t bring her just to scold me, did you? This really isn’t a good time, old chap.”

“For some reason, unknown to me, she cared enough to see that you were returned home in relatively good order.” David let out his breath slowly, his chilly stare still fixed on Marcus, and Marcus glared back from under his eyebrows. David turned away and murmured something to Hannah, then faced Rourke.

“How much do you want?” David asked, his expression bored.

Rourke gave a short bark of laughter. “Not me, mate. I don’t want nuffin.” He glanced fleetingly at the door. “Not yet.”

“Ah.” That dry, humorless smile curled David’s mouth again. “Shall we wait for Bentley, then?”

Rourke blinked. Marcus almost fell off his chair. Or would have, had he not been tied to it. Bentley? Of course—it made sense, he thought, thinking through things with growing fury and elation. So much sense, he should have figured it out himself. “Aye,” growled Rourke. “We’ll wait for ‘im.”

“Hmm.” David stared down at Rourke with unreadable eyes. “Mustn’t move without your master’s permission, I see.” The Irishman bristled. David folded his arms. “Let’s speed things along, shall we? You’ve already given my brother a good thumping; that’s about as much as he can take—”

“Oh, now really,” whined Marcus, lapsing obedi-endy back into silence as David cut him a cold glance.

“What more do you expect of him?” This time David flashed a smile at him, filled with contempt. It was a little shocking to Marcus, that this was how he appeared to his brother, but he pushed aside that thought and rolled his eyes exacdy as he had seen David do many times before, after every little question and correction. “Bentley’s gotten far more out of him than most of us have. You’d best wash your hands of him.”

“Nay.” Rourke showed his yellowing teedi. “Not on your life.”

David’s eyebrows climbed higher. “Indeed. You have something else planned for him? I assure you, he’s not clever enough or reliable enough. Gambling is his main talent, and you’ve already exploited that.”

“This is fine thanks I get,” began Marcus indig-nandy. “After I came all the way out here, just to get the child back—”

“Don’t you dare,” Hannah interrupted him, her voice trembling. “If not for you, she would never have been in danger.”

He ducked away from her gaze, not daring to let anything about her distract him. “Well, yes, sorry about that,” he mumbled.

“Yes, you always are,” said David dryly. “After the fact.” He turned to Hannah. “Do not trouble yourself, my dear. I shall deal with this.” Now he looked to Rourke, pacing across the room, hands clasped behind his back. Marcus could just see a faint, condescending smile on his brother’s face. “We both know you won’t get anything from Bentley for the child,” he said, so quietly Marcus had to strain to hear. “And as for my brother, I wouldn’t give a farthing, but Her Grace wished to see him once more. Now that she’s seen for herself what he’s been up to, even she may not want him. My escort will come after me if either the duchess or I do not tell them otherwise. Shall we both profit, and send them out?”

Rourke was thinking about this, Marcus could tell. What was David planning? He obviously wanted Marcus to go free, but then what? Marcus knew, as David did not, that Timms and Stafford could be summoned with a dozen armed men ready to round up the counterfeiters. But it would take time to fetch them, and David would be alone…

He flinched then as Hannah’s hand brushed over his temple. He had been so deep in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed her approach. Now she was bending solicitously over him, her blue eyes unnervingly close to his, and his heart leaped in his chest, with a terrifying mixture of love and fear. “Don’t worry,” she breathed. Then, loudly and indignandy, “He’s hurt!”

Rourke and David both turned to look at them. “How dare you,” she went on, glaring at Rourke. “He’s hurt, and I believe he has a fever coming on. Have you no decency, to leave him sitting here all wet? I must take him home at once. Your mother will be so concerned,” she added to Marcus, who didn’t have to pretend his astonishment. “She’s been so worried about you, and now you return home only to go out seeking trouble! David, you really aren’t competent to care for yourself.”‘

She called him David. He was David. Marcus scowled. “I’m fine,” he grumbled. “And I’m more than capable of handling things! Well, I might need a spot of money, of course, but nothing much—say, five thousand—” Rourke’s eyes sparkled at the amount.

“Do you think me mad?” David gave a contemptuous snort. “Give you five thousand! It will never be enough. I might as well throw it on the fire.”‘

Marcus glanced at Rourke. “Two thousand, then? For the child, I mean. You came all the way here, might as well make a bid.”

“Not a farthing,” said David swiftly. Marcus didn’t know what he was up to, but he didn’t have another bluff. He sagged in his seat, and tried to look sulky.

“Can’t blame me, then. I tried to get her back. Not my fault he won’t help.”

Rourke was looking back and forth between them, calculation mixed with a bit of uncertainty. Marcus guessed he was wishing he’d had a chance to take the five thousand pounds, Bentley’s orders or not.

“No, I am done giving you money,” David said with a thin smile. “This time, I shall deal with your creditors directly.” He glanced at Rourke. “How long must I wait in this hovel?”

The Irishman scowled. “I’d not be worrying about the accommodations, Yer Grace.”

“No.” David’s tone was icy. He took out his watch and studied it. “You’re running out of time.”

For a moment the only sound was the
plip plip
of water dripping through the roof. Marcus could hardly breathe, racking his brain for something, anything to get them all free.

Rourke’s gaze flickered away from David, back to Marcus. “All right,” he growled. “Take him.”

“That’s more like it,” David murmured, standing by and watching as one of the men sawed through the ropes around Marcus. Free at least, he lurched to his feet, taking care to stumble his first step. Hannah touched his arm.

“Are you well enough to walk?”

“Yes, yes,” he blustered. His heart seemed to pound with the force of an army drum, marking off the seconds. Bentley could arrive at any moment, and Bentley would deduce what Rourke never would, that he and David had switched places. Their cousin knew them too well to be fooled for very long. And with Hannah right in the middle of things, Marcus knew they had to get out as soon as they could; if Bentley managed to get all three of mem under his control, they were dead. “Let’s go, then.” He glanced at David as he jerked at his jacket, fussing unnecessarily with the cuffs. “Good show, Exeter.”