Patrica Rice (8 page)

The idea of it drove a stake through Michael’s heart. He couldn’t eat the sandwiches offered him. The patter of small feet in the hallway outside filled him with immense relief.

“Cousin Michael!´ The cheerful, small cry buoyed his hopes, and he grinned as he caught the bundle of energy hurtling toward him.

“Edwina!” Marian cried, scandalized by her daughter’s behavior. “We have guests.”

Lifting the toddler from the floor, Michael whispered in her ear, “The fairy princess, Lady Blanche, has come to visit, scamp. Make your curtsies, and I will take you for a horsie ride.”

Grinning from ear to ear, the toddler planted a wet kiss on his cheek, scrambled from his arms, and ran to stand in front of their guest. Bobbing a wobbly curtsy, she lisped obediently, “Good day to you, Printheth Lady Blanche. Thank you for coming.”

Then with a mischievous glint over her shoulder to Michael, she asked, “Is that good? Ride now?”

Even this toddler possessed the Lawrence dark good looks, and Michael felt his heart turn over in his chest at her winsome smile. He wanted a daughter just like her someday. He glanced back at Blanche, then wished he hadn’t.

She looked at the child with such longing.

Insane
, he muttered to himself. She would forget all about the child as soon as he took Edwina out of the room.

Out of the room.

Laughter once more dancing in his eyes, Michael held out his arms for the toddler. “Come on, scamp, I’ll give you a horsie ride back to the nursery where you belong.”

Squealing with delight, the child leapt at the offer. Swinging her up in his arms, Michael propped her on his shoulder, neighed at her command, and trotted out of the room in the direction of the nursery and escape.

Tears formed in Blanche’s eyes as she watched Michael cradle the beautiful little girl in his arms. His whole face lit with pleasure as the toddler patted his cheeks and kissed his nose. She had seen many expressions on his face before. Michael didn’t always hide his emotions as so many men did, but she’d never seen such love and devotion in his countenance as she saw now.

When they romped out of the room, Blanche couldn’t face Marian immediately. She had to gain some control of herself. Her arms ached to hold Edwina. She should visit Dillian and hold her godchild for a little while to still the need. But she couldn’t.

If she were to escape Michael’s overprotective restraints and find Fiona on her own, she must disguise herself and slip away without endangering Marian or anyone. Michael had once showed her how to slip away...

Blanche gave the open doorway a suspicious glance and inquired urgently, “How far is it to the nursery?”

“Just up the stairs. Why...” Marian’s eyes widened. She knew Michael even better than Blanche. Abruptly, she rose from the chair and led the way from the room.

Blanche followed, but she had no illusion about what they would find. Or wouldn’t find. The blasted man had done it again.

In the nursery, Edwina rocked on a wooden horse, chattering excitedly to her nursemaid, with no sign of Michael anywhere.

“I shall feed him bells,” Blanche declared ominously as she stalked back down the stairway. “I want to hear him clang every time he walks.”

Marian giggled. “That is one solution, I suppose. It could be quite embarrassing upon several occasions I can think of, but we shan’t mention them.” Her laughter rang out at Blanche’s puzzled expression, and she covered her mouth to stifle it. “Oh, dear. Dillian will have my head. I really shouldn’t say such things in front of an unmarried lady.”

Cheeks heating, Blanche swept into the parlor and scanned the street outside She didn’t want to imagine Michael in bed with anyone, with or without bells.

“You might as well tell me what our elusive Michael did not. What kind of trouble are the two of you in this time?”

Marian’s sensible tone drew Blanche back to the immediate. She wouldn’t sit here like a useless turnip waiting for Michael to return. Or not to return, which was the more likely. The last time he’d disappeared, she hadn’t seen him for two years.

Turning her back on the fog-shrouded street, Blanche faced her hostess. “A young woman ran away from my home this morning. We believe she is in some danger. Michael has taken it upon himself to go after her, but I believe I have considerably more resources than he does. I want to summon a Runner first. Then I shall call upon my servants for escort. I don’t like involving you or your family any further, so I think it best if I’m seen leaving here. Send for my groom, will you?”

Marian frowned. “Michael didn’t bring you here so you could go running home as soon as he turned his back. There’s more to the story than that. I may deplore his methods, but I usually approve his intent. Let’s hear the whole.”

* * *

Sitting in the foggy shadows of Elton Alley, disguised in beggar’s rags, Michael watched two fashionable fribbles lingering on the corner. The street possessed more than its fair share of actresses, he supposed. These fine fellows could very well be in search of one, but most gentlemen possessed the common sense to know the actress’s direction and go straight there, not linger like cork-brained clunches in full view of every light-fingered rogue and dolly in the district.

The arrival of a hired hackney on that same corner stirred his suspicion more. He’d seen the Bow Street Runner—no doubt hired by Blanche—working his way down the street earlier. Michael had chosen this doorway to keep an eye on the blighter. He wished Blanche hadn’t been in such a hurry to hire the officer, but from what he’d seen so far, the man knew his job. Michael just hoped he could find Fiona before the inhabitants of the house at the end of the alley noted the Runner’s presence and fled. But the two fribbles and the hackney made him suspicious.

Michael buried his head against his arms and silently practiced widening his vocabulary of curses as an outlandishly garbed female descended from the carriage. he had no one but himself to blame. In the days after the fire he’d amused himself and Blanche by teaching her to disguise herself from Neville and society. She’d just carried his lessons a little too far this time.

Hoping he’d imagined the scene, Michael squeezed his eyes closed and opened them again. Even through the thickening fog he could see the scandalously low cut bodice sagging ridiculously over slender curves. A remnant of a different century, the purple satin skirt dragged in the mud, resembling a dressing gown more than any other female garment he recognized. He supposed she’d found it in Cousin Marian’s attic, and he cursed Reginald’s penchant for collecting antiquities.

He recognized the fops now—two of the foolish suitors who had been dangling after Blanche’s wealth years ago. Mostly, they lay about quoting poetry and eating her food. Harmless, but stupid. When they joined her, offering their arms, Michael pulled his hair. Only this pair would be idiotic enough to play act with a lady, endangering her without thought. Blanche’s neck was the one needing wringing. The lady was peeved at his escape and thought to teach him a lesson. She had, but it probably wasn’t what she intended. Next time, he’d tie her to a chair.

Remaining seated, he leaned against the door behind him, draping his bare wrists over the tattered knees of his trousers as he watched the procession stroll down the alley. Even the usual inhabitants stared in disbelief, not knowing what to make of so lovely a lady in such out-dated dishabille. Her fashionable fribbles possessed the pale features and soft hands of aristocrats, not to mention an air of complete confusion at the noisy filth and chaos around them. He considered shooting them both for not having the brains to haul the lady straight back to a hackney.

Even the Runner blinked as he emerged and saw this marvel drifting up the street. Michael gave the fellow a mark for good sense when he merely continued about his business. Fiona was probably laughing herself silly if she watched from one of the windows above.

While the entire street watched the procession of Blanche and fribbles, a slight figure darted out of the fog to whisper in Michael’s ear.

“She says as she’s found her aunt and ye’re not to worry.”

The urchin made as if to dart back from whence he came, but Michael grabbed his coat and jerked him back. The boy didn’t look frightened, just irritated that he’d been caught.

“Who said and where?” he demanded.

“She said as ye’d know,” the lad declared boldly. “And she ain’t there no more.”

“And I’m to believe you?” Michael asked. “Do you take me for a fool? I want to see for myself she’s all right.”

Fear widened the boy’s eyes, and he kicked at Michael. “I don’t know no more than that. Let me go.”

“Take me to where you saw her last.” Keeping a tight hold on the boy’s coat, Michael caught a skinny wrist with the other hand and rose from the street.

“She’s gone to her brother, she says. I ain’t knowin’ nothin’ more.”

The boy lashed out with his foot. A cry from the other end of the alley distracted Michael into loosening his hold, and the urchin wriggled free, disappearing into the fog-shrouded dusk.

The growing fracas at the other end of the street kept him from caring. Michael couldn’t see well enough through the haze to clearly discern events. He raced to the place where he’d last seen Blanche and her companions. He could find Blanche were he blindfolded and in the dark.

A wailing doxy holding a bundle of rags in her arms blocked Blanche’s path. The taller fop admonished the beggar loudly, shaking his expensive walking stick in her face, but the woman knew a good mark when she saw one. She determinedly held her place, pouring forth her tale of woe. The shorter, fatter gentleman tugged on Blanche’s elbow, sensibly attempting to turn her around. Blanche behaved as if she didn’t know either man existed.

“The landlord threw us out, he did! My poor wee one hasn’t eaten in weeks. There’s naught for us but crumbs off the street. Her father died serving his country, he did, and this is what we gets in return! Please, my lady, a coin or two to ease our sufferin’. Just enough for the babe. I’ll go without, but I can’t bear to hear her cries.”

Michael scowled at this self-serving nonsense. He might harbor a few idealistic tendencies, but he wasn’t blind to reality. He despised the women who fed their filthy habits with the lives of the poor infants they bore. Fed gin from the day they were conceived, the infants had no chance of living long outside the womb. These women knew it and didn’t care. They merely used the little inconveniences as sources of income until the babes died. By then, they could sell their bodies again and repeat the cycle.

“She’s a thief and a doxy and she hasn’t a notion of who the babe’s father is,” Michael muttered as he sidled up behind Blanche. “Get out of here before she starts a riot, which she will if she doesn’t have her gin soon.”

Blanche showed no surprise at his appearance. Indeed, she didn’t even look at him. Her attention remained on the oddly limp infant in the woman’s arms. “I can’t leave that child here,” she murmured, stark horror marring her features.

“That child is either dead or dying of gin. There’s nothing either of us can do to save it. It never had a chance from the moment of its birth. Alcohol runs in its veins instead of blood.” Michael grabbed the tall fop’s walking stick and swung it at the beggar’s skirts when she pressed too close. She let out a wail and jabbered at the top of her lungs, her gesticulations nearly toppling the infant from her arms.

A small crowd had already formed, eager for any kind of entertainment on a soggy night. More arrived to watch as the woman’s cries escalated. Michael grabbed Blanche’s arm and swung her around, shoving her toward the main street at the end of the alley. “Get out of here now!” He shoved the taller of her two companions in the same direction. “Get her out and don’t let her come back or I’ll break your head myself.”

The fop grabbed Blanche’s arm and half dragged her away. The beggar chased after them, shouting, followed by the crowd behind her. Michael waited until Blanche’s back was turned before sticking his foot between the woman’s legs and tripping her. The woman wailed louder, nearly dropping the ragged bundle in her arms.

Blanche instantly swung around, shaking off her captors.

Caught up in the crowd surging around the spectacle, Michael couldn’t reach her in time. To his horror, he watched Blanche shove a purse at the woman, then grab the bundle of blankets as soon as the woman greedily stuck out her hand. Michael could do nothing more than heave a container of trash into the midst of the crowd to prevent them from chasing Blanche as she dashed down the alley, followed in close pursuit by her dandified escorts. A riot erupted behind them as the greedy denizens of the street fought over the bag of gold.

Not taking time to utter the litany of curses he’d practiced, Michael dashed after them, leaping over obstacles in pursuit of Blanche and her stolen babe.

Seeing her being helped into the hired carriage, Michael leapt up and grabbed the rear postilion, then scrambled over the wheel and caught the door before either of her escorts could join her. They couldn’t help Blanche and this babe. He planted his foot firmly in the center of the taller man’s chest, sending him sprawling backward across the cobblestones. The fat one merely shouted in dismay from the street as Michael slammed the door and ordered the driver to move.

Gasping for breath, Michael frowned as Blanche worriedly rocked the infant in her arms. She showed no shock or surprise at his appearance, not even bothering to scold him for his actions. He couldn’t decide if it was because she cared so little for him or because she perfectly understood why he was here and what he had done.

With resignation, he pried the lifeless bundle from Blanche’s arms and pulled the blanket back. The pain of that poor drawn face nearly crippled him, but heartlessly, he informed her, “The babe’s dead, Blanche. The woman simply wanted the coins for gin. She’s dead, and there’s nothing you can do to save her.”

Reluctantly, Michael surrendered the infant when Blanche snatched it from his arms. He watched in sorrow as she peeled back the blankets and desperately sought some sign of life. Even in the dim carriage light, he could see her grief.