Good Dukes Wear Black (27 page)

Staring, she tried to gauge how she could possibly get past the three of them. Her only chance was to put her head down and burst past them before they realized what happened.

But when she tried, it was only to find herself held fast by each arm, the impact of going from a fast run to a dead stop making her head spin.

“Tsk-tsk,” chided Edwin with a wagging finger. “You know better than to think you can get past these two fellows. Why, they might have done you some serious harm.”

It was clear from his tone that he'd not have minded.

“What are you going to do with me?” Ophelia demanded. If Trent would only return she might be able to get out of this mess. Alone she was no match for the three of them. No matter how hard she fought. “Perhaps you can just let me go,” she coaxed. “I am a duchess now, you know. That means that people will be looking for me soon.”

“Will they?” Edwin asked, with a cold smile. “I think not. Your dear husband has better things to do than search for the likes of you. And your parents and sister are relieved not to have to deal with you themselves anymore. Face it, my dear, you are in my tender care for the time being and here you shall remain.”

Turning to the two men behind him, he snapped, “Take her upstairs, both of you. And be sure not to wake the other one. I have a headache and cannot endure another screaming fit like last night's. It's easy enough to silence her, but then she's out for too long to be any fun.”

And before Ophelia could think about the implications of that little speech, the two hulking men were dragging her along the floor and toward the back where the stairs leading to the apartment upstairs were located.

“Wait,” she shouted. “You don't have to do this!” Turning to her captors, she continued to shout. “Please, sirs, my husband is a duke, a very wealthy man, and he will quite happily pay you whatever sum you ask for. Only send for him and find out!”

“They are impervious to your charms,” Edwin said with a dismissive wave. “Now, get her out of here and come back at once. I have some other tasks for you.”

And unable to break away from the viselike grips, Ophelia allowed the men to pull her along through the house and up the back stairs to the apartment above.

When they opened the door, she narrowed her eyes against the brightness. For up here, there were dozens of lamps lit. And huddled in one corner of the room, on a filthy mattress of straw, lay Maggie Grayson.

And Ophelia very much feared she might be dead.

 

Twenty

When Trent stopped his curricle before the offices of the
Ladies' Gazette
, he was disappointed to see that there were no lights coming from within. Perhaps Ophelia was working in the back, where her light wouldn't show.

“I thought you said Ophelia was here,” Freddy said, leaping to the ground while Trent handed the reins to yet another loitering urchin.

“I did,” Trent responded, stepping up to the door and hammering on it. But no one responded. Turning, he saw that the greengrocer next door was peering out the window. Gesturing for the man to come out, he and Freddy waited while he did just that.

“Do you remember me from earlier? I was here with my wife and we asked about the man who owns the newspaper next door.”

“Aye,” the man said with a nod. Then looking sheepish, he said, “I didn't tell ye the whole truth before.”

A chill crept down Trent's spine. “What do you mean?”

“Only that the fellow next door paid me to say he was gone. But the truth is he's there right now.”

“What?” Trent's voice cut the air like glass. “You lied to me?”

“He said you were looking for him for running off with yer wife. Only I knowed that couldn't be true if the lass that were with you was yer wife.”

“Then why didn't you tell me before?” Trent suppressed the urge to throttle the older man. If he'd known Carrington were anywhere near the newspaper offices he'd not have left Ophelia within a mile of them. “You could plainly see that she was my wife.”

“How was I to know you weren't lyin'?” the grocer said with a shrug. “And Carrington did give me some coin.”

Trent bit back a curse and pulled a handful of coins from his purse. “Now, what do you know? About the man next door. Everything.”

The man pocketed the coins before admitting, “That's all I know. Though I did hear some shouting over there a bit ago. Quiet now though.”

Before Trent could demand his coin back, Freddy pulled him aside. “Calm down. I have an idea.”

To the greengrocer, he said sharply, “You strike me as a man who doesn't miss much. Do you know if there is another key to Carrington's place next door? Perhaps he gave you one for safekeeping or maybe hides one somewhere, nearby?”

When the man looked as if he were about to ask for more money, Trent bared his teeth. And looking slightly taken aback, Mr. Fellows nodded. “He gave me this when he first moved in. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd forgot all about it.”

He proffered a large ring of keys with the right one separated out.

Not bothering to take it off the ring, Trent turned to Freddy. Reaching into his greatcoat, he handed his friend one dueling pistol and then pulled out another for himself.

As they crossed to the door of the newspaper office, he said in a low voice, “As soon as the lock is opened, we'll go in on the count of three.”

*   *   *

As soon as the door shut behind her, Ophelia hurried over to where Maggie lay still on the lumpy mattress. Falling to her knees, she reached down to feel her friend's neck for a pulse and almost wept with relief when she found one. It was weak, but it was there.

“Maggie, my dear friend, what's happened to you?” she said in a low voice as she examined the other woman's body for injuries. It was on her head that she found the likely cause of her unconsciousness. A large lump was visible on the back of her head.

Ophelia wondered if it had happened before she was taken into this shabby little room, or perhaps during an attempt at escape. There was no way of knowing.

All she was sure of now was that Edwin was a monster and was likely responsible for the disappearances of three more women in addition to Maggie. Why hadn't she insisted on going with Trent? Together they would have been able to extricate themselves from Edwin's clutches. But alone, with an injured Maggie to protect, she had only her wits to use against him.

But first, she needed to see about Maggie.

Scanning the room, she saw that on the dresser there was a pitcher of water along with a glass. Perhaps some water would revive her friend. At the very least she could dampen her handkerchief and wipe down the poor girl's face.

Soon she'd poured a small glass and placed the damp cloth on Maggie's head. But though she swallowed a bit of the water, she didn't awaken. It was perhaps for the best, Ophelia thought grimly. She certainly wasn't enjoying her time here in captivity. Let Maggie remain oblivious while she could.

Standing, she raised the shade of the window and found it faced the street below. She wondered if it would do any good to try to catch the attention of someone down there. Edwin would likely fob off anyone who came in response with some nonsense story about a mad sister or the like. He was familiar enough with the way everyday people responded to the suggestion of madness. They steered as far away as they could.

As if it were catching.

Still, she scanned the street below to see if anyone was looking in their direction. But all she saw was a lad holding the reins of a red-and-blue-trimmed curricle. Which looked quite familiar.

Gasping, she covered her mouth with her hand. Trent had returned for her. But her relief was coupled with the fear of what Edwin might do to her husband when he came looking for her. Because if she knew anything about Trent it was that he'd never take no for an answer.

Trent had fought against the French for years. He was skilled at strategy and combat in a way that Edwin couldn't possibly understand. He'd likely dismiss her husband as a soft nobleman with more familiarity with the cut of his coat than how to defend himself against thugs.

But she'd seen him still sweaty from swordplay, and had noted that instead of being winded he was invigorated. He could hold his own against someone of Edwin's ilk. And he'd know how to handle the brute force of Edwin's henchmen as well.

And she would do her own part, by letting him know that she and Maggie were upstairs, and alive.

Fortunately, Maggie's captors hadn't bothered to remove everything from her prison that might be used as a weapon. Or a means to signal for help.

There before the hearth were two andirons, perhaps so familiar they'd not even registered with the kidnappers. Ophelia didn't want to consider what it meant about Maggie's likely state of unconsciousness for the duration of her captivity that she hadn't tried to use them herself. Or maybe she had and her current injury was the result.

Clenching her teeth to suppress her anger, she slowly hoisted one of the andirons as far up as she could and dropped it on the bare floor just outside the edge of the carpet. Then, not content with that one loud sound, she did it again. And again. Until her arms were weak with fatigue.

If nothing else, she thought with a determined grin, at least Edwin's head would ache worse now.

*   *   *

“What the devil is this?” Edwin Carrington cried out as Trent and Freddy burst into his office with pistols drawn. “I have a good mind to call the watch on both of you. You have no right to come in here like this.”

“It's funny you should talk about rights, Carrington,” Trent said calmly, “when you are even as we speak holding both my wife and her friend Mrs. Margaret Grayson against their will.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about, Trent,” snapped Carrington, as if he weren't being held at gunpoint. “I haven't seen Ophelia since she came here two days ago with you. And as for Maggie—”

“It's her grace, the Duchess of Trent to you,” Trent spat out. “And don't try to cozen me with your lies and tales of unrequited love. We both know quite well how you dispose of those ladies who don't return your twisted affections.”

“If you're going to speak in riddles,” Carrington said with a shrug, “then you should at the very least allow me to have a drink to go along with it.”

He stood and stepped toward the decanter of brandy on the end of his desk.

But Trent, noting it was made of heavy crystal, shook his head and moved the decanter out of reach. “I don't think so.”

“A nice try, however,” Freddy said with a nod of encouragement. “But amateurish at best.”

“You'd better sit back down, Carrington, and tell me where you're keeping my wife and her friend.”

“I don't know who's been telling you these tales,” Carrington said, sitting back down, “but they are very much mistaken, I can assure you.”

“Even your own brother?” Trent asked, his pistol never wavering. He knew they'd not gotten a confession from Dr. Hayes yet, but the lie might be enough to make Carrington tell him where Ophelia was. At least that's what he hoped.

“What has he been saying?” Carrington demanded, going pale. “What's the high-and-mighty Dr. Hayes been saying to slander me now?”

Trent noticed with pleasure that the newspaperman's eye was twitching.

“Only that you've used him as a means of getting rid of some of your more unsatisfactory lady friends. The ones who don't return your affection, I mean. What must it be like to find oneself rejected again and again by the opposite sex? I wonder.”

“He doesn't know what he's talking about,” Carrington snapped. “He gets confused. He's not as young as he used to be, you understand.”

“Oh, I think he was quite lucid about the matter,” Trent said, resting his shoulder against the wall. “He recalled very well the names of the women. As well as how he wrote out writs declaring them to be insane. It was really quite clever of you to get rid of them in that way. I must say. Very clever indeed.”

“Don't patronize me, you ass,” Carrington snarled. “You think it was easy for me to persuade him to do that? My whole life I'd had to beg for crumbs from him. While he grew richer and richer off the monies he collected from the families of those miserable madmen he treats. It's only right that I get something back from him. Especially when he hasn't given a penny to our poor mother.”

“Ah, sibling affection,” Freddy said dryly. “It fair brings a tear to my eye.”

“Why don't you tell me what you've done with Maggie Grayson,” Trent said grimly. “It was obvious to me the other day that you held her in some affection, though I mistakenly thought you were thinking only of doing away with her husband. I might have known you'd choose to punish the woman who rejected you, too. Can't let her get away with that, can you?”

Even Trent's quick reflexes were no match for the anger of a madman.

And as if he were an arrow let loose from a bowstring, Carrington leaped forward to clutch Trent by the cravat with one hand. In his other, he had a knife, which Trent felt pressed hard against his neck.

“Put the pistol down,” Carrington said coldly, and pressed the knife harder. Carefully Trent lowered the gun to the surface of the desk. It would do Ophelia no good if he got himself killed by this madman before he was able to find her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Freddy lift his own pistol to point directly at Carrington's head. Catching his friend's gaze, he gave a subtle shake of his head. Even so, Freddy gave Carrington a hard look before he lowered his weapon and placed it next to Trent's.

“A wise choice, Lord Frederick,” Carrington said smugly. “If you kill me you'll never know where Ophelia and Maggie are, will you? Though I fear they'll both be dead before you get to them.”