Valentine (51 page)

He made a tight turn onto Haymarket, shaving the varnish of a landau and hearing the indignant bellow of the coachman and the squeals of the vehicle’s female occupants. His horses tossed their heads, sensing that the hand on the reins wasn’t really steady enough for this pace, and he forced himself to pull back on the reins a little. And then he saw Jonathan Lacey on the other side of the street, strolling casually in the sunshine.

Edward hailed him but without immediate result. He drew rein and bellowed again in an agony of urgency. He couldn’t drive across the stream of oncoming traffic. Jonathan would have to come to him. But still Clarissa’s swain continued to
stroll on, his head presumably full of idyllic settings for his sugary portraits, Edward thought viciously. Standing up, he yelled with the full force of his lungs. The other man stopped, looking around him in puzzlement.

“Jonathan!” Edward’s voice was hoarse as he waved frantically, finally catching the artist’s eye.

Jonathan waved back with an amiable smile and looked for a minute as if, greeting made, he were about to continue his walk. Edward beckoned furiously, and finally Jonathan got the message. He stood on the pavement looking both ways, waiting an eternity for an ambling tilbury to pass, before he crossed.

“Good morning, Fairfax.” He greeted Edward, looking somewhat puzzled at the imperative summons.

“I need you to find Stoneridge and give him a message,” Edward said without preamble. “Immediately, Jonathan.”

“Find Stoneridge?” The young man blinked. “But where would I find him?”

“I don’t know.” Edward struggled to hang on to his patience. “If he’s not at Curzon Street and Foster doesn’t know, try his clubs, or Mantons, or Gentleman Jackson’s. Someone will know where he is.”

“He was at Brook Street earlier,” Jonathan said vaguely. “But he left before I did.”

“Then that’s not much help, is it? Now, listen, when you find him, tell him to meet me at Hall Court, off Ludgate Hill. Tell him it’s of the utmost urgency and he must come prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” Jonathan blinked again.

“He’ll know what I mean,” Edward said. “Now, don’t delay. Can you remember the address?”

“Hall Court, off Ludgate Hill,” Jonathan said promptly. “But this is most inconvenient, Edward. I have an engagement with a lady from whom I have every expectation of securing a commission.”

Edward’s mouth tightened, and the other man quailed at
the look that sprang into the usually benign eyes. “If you’re intending to marry Clarissa, Lacey, you’ll have to learn the cardinal Belmont rule—we help each other before we help ourselves,” he declared with ice-tipped clarity. “Now,
find Stoneridge
!”

Without waiting to see how Jonathan responded to this ferocious command, he backed his horses into an alley and turned back the way he’d come, driving his horses through the crowds as heedlessly as before.

Jonathan lifted the curly brim of his tall beaver hat and scratched his head. Then he shrugged and set off toward May-fair. St. James’s was as good a place as any to begin his search.

He drew a blank at Brooks’s and Watier’s, but the footman at White’s acknowledged that Lord Stoneridge might be on the premises. He left Jonathan kicking his heels in the hall and sailed up the gilded staircase to the coffee room.

Stoneridge looked up from his conversation with Major Fortescue as the footman coughed at his elbow. “Well?”

“There’s a young gentleman inquiring after you, my lord. Should I deny you?”

“That rather depends on the identity of the young gentleman.” Sylvester raised an eyebrow.

The footman extended the silver tray with a card. “Now what the devil does young Lacey want with me?” Sylvester said, frowning. “You’d better send him up.”

Jonathan appeared in the doorway a minute later. He stood looking round with every appearance of fascination, then flushed slightly as several gentlemen raised eye glasses and stared fixedly at the inquisitive intruder in this exclusive salon. He made his way hastily across the room, tripping over a small spindle-legged table in his embarrassment, righting it swiftly, only to catch his toe in the fringe of a Turkey carpet.

“It is something of an obstacle course, I agree,” Stoneridge observed. “Pray sit down, Mr. Lacey, before the obstacles get the better of you.”

“Your pardon, Lord Stoneridge.” Jonathan mopped his
brow with a large checkered handkerchief. “But I have been looking all over for you.”

The first faint prickles of unease crept over Sylvester’s scalp. “I’m flattered,” he said calmly.

“Fairfax sent me with a message. A matter of the utmost urgency. I’m not at all sure what it could mean.”

The prickles ran rampant up and down his spine. “It’s to be hoped I shall. Pray continue.”

“He wishes you to meet him at Hall Court, off Ludgate Hill—I believe that’s correct. Oh, and he said to come prepared. He said you would know what that meant.”

“Indeed, I do.” Sylvester rose, no sign on his face of his inner turmoil. “Obliged to you, Lacey.” He nodded briefly. “You’ll pardon me, Peter.”

“Of course. Anything I can do?”

But the offer was made to the earl’s back as he strode from the salon.

What the
hell
trouble was Theo in now? He couldn’t begin to imagine, and speculation was terrifyingly futile. His unease that morning had obviously been justified.

Concentrating only on immediate plans, he strode back to Curzon Street, where he thrust a pair of dueling pistols into his belt, dropped a small silver-mounted pistol into his pocket, tucked his sword stick under his arm, and slipped a wicked stiletto-bladed knife into his boot. Edward had said to come prepared.

He would make faster time on horseback, and within ten minutes he was galloping Zeus toward the Strand.

Theo swam upward through a murky pond where weeds snatched at moments of lucidity and waves kept tumbling her back into the dark world below. But slowly, her mind cleared and her eyes opened. Her head was pounding as if half a dozen hammers were at work, and gingerly she turned sideways on the pillow, feeling at the back of her head for the source of
the hammers. Her fingers encountered a lump the size of a gull’s egg.

She was feeling sick and giddy, and her eyes could make no sense of her surroundings. Something heavy was round her right ankle, and experimentally she moved her leg. There was a heavy clunking sound, and whatever it was rasped painfully against her ankle bone.

The dark waters of the pond closed over her again, but this time she fought back, dragging herself upward into the light. It was a dim light, but the fog was clearing from her mind despite the continued pounding in her head.

Someone, and it hadn’t been Neil Gerard, had hit her on the back of the head. They’d been driving up Ludgate Hill. She’d said that it seemed a strange route to take when they should be crossing Blackfriar’s Bridge. Gerard had smiled and said he had something of interest to show her.

Then they’d turned aside into that reeking, gloomy court. And like the dumb fool she was, she still hadn’t grasped what was happening. She’d sat there like a gaby a minute too long before going for her pistol, and someone had hit her from behind.

Without much hope she felt in her pocket. No pistol. Sylvester was right, Theo thought disgustedly. She was a naive, impetuous baby who needed all the protection and surveillance a caring and watchful husband could give her. If she ever got out of this situation in one piece, she’d lock herself in her room and give him the key!

Struggling up onto one elbow, she surveyed her surroundings. It was a small room lit only by a grimy skylight. She was lying on a narrow cot, on a straw palliase covered with rough striped ticking. Apart from this there was a table and chair, and a small coal fire burning in the hearth.

There was a chain around her ankle. Her right leg was shackled to the bed. Sitting up properly, Theo stared in disbelief; then she reached down, ignoring the pounding in her head, and lifted the chain. It was heavy, but it seemed long
enough to allow her to get off the cot. Carefully, she stood up; her head swam, and cold perspiration broke out on her forehead as a wave of nausea washed over her. She sat down again and waited for the moment to pass.

Then, with renewed effort, she stood up and took a step toward the table in the middle of the room. The chain had sufficient play to enable her to get that far. There was a carafe of water on the table, and she drank thirstily. The cold liquid helped to clear her mind even further, and she continued her investigation of her prison.

She dragged the chain to the door. There were heavy bolts at the top and bottom on the inside—useful should she decide to lock herself in. Again without much hope, she raised the latch. It came up sweetly, and the door swung open onto a narrow passage. Her heart lifted and she stepped forward, only to discover she was at the limit of her chain, and the links bit into her ankle bone.

Theo pulled the door closed again and returned to the bed. Her foot kicked something as she sat down. At least Gerard or his assistant had provided her with a chamber pot. But what did they want with her?

There came the sound of footsteps in the passage outside, and instantly she lay down again, closing her eyes. It might be useful to pretend she was still unconscious, at least until she had a better sense of what was intended.

Gerard came into the room, closing the door behind him. He trod softly to the cot and stood looking down
at
the white-faced, unconscious figure. He laid a hand on her brow and was relieved to find her skin warm. Dan didn’t know his own strength, and Neil had been afraid the blow had been unnecessarily hard. He needed the Countess of Stoneridge alive and well when it came to negotiating with her husband.

He allowed his gaze to roam over the still body. The soft rise and fall of her breasts, the way her skirt clung to her flat belly. The hem was rucked up, showing the curve of her ankle and calf. He bent and pushed it up a little farther, remembering
the vibrant sensuality that had so struck him when he’d first laid eyes on her. His hand slid up her silken-clad leg beneath her skirt and petticoat. A madness seemed to have entered him. There was something incredibly exciting about having this immobile, unaware body at his disposal. His fingers insinuated themselves into the leg of her drawers, creeping upward over the warm skin.

And then there was a loud banging at the door. With a muttered curse he jerked his hand away and straightened.

“’Ow is she?” Dan’s huge head appeared around the door. “Awake yet?”

“Not as yet.” Gerard moved casually away from the cot. “Send that girl of yours to me. To the front room.”

“Fancy a bit, do ya?” Dan chuckled and his red eyes leered. “Well, you do good by ’er, an’ I’ve no objections. I’ll listen out fer yon missie fer a spell.”

Gerard said nothing but drew his arm sharply aside as he passed so that he wouldn’t brush against the man. Dan’s sneering chuckle followed him as he went to the front room that he’d once occupied, to await the scrawny maidservant he’d used there before to ease his hunger pangs.

T
HEO OPENED HER
eyes, once she was sure she was alone. She was shuddering from head to toe, her skin where he’d touched her crawling as if it were alive with slugs leaving their sticky trail. The sense of violation was so powerful, she wanted to retch. She’d been too shocked and too disoriented to resist, and by the time she’d recovered from her shock, it had stopped. But he wouldn’t do it again.

She got up and rinsed out her mouth, then dipped her finger into the water and scrubbed at her flesh where his fingers had been. Her head still ached, but it was an almost irrelevant discomfort now. She had to get out of there.

Had Edward seen what had happened? He’d not have been able to do anything single-handed, but perhaps he’d gone for help. But whether he had or not, she must still help herself.

When Gerard returned, he would find her wide awake and composed, and if he attempted to touch her again, he’d get more than he bargained for.

Presumably, he had the key to the chain somewhere on his person.

Then she knew what she had to do. He wouldn’t find her wide awake and composed. He would find her just as he’d left her. With her skirt hiked up, her body defenseless and inviting. And when he approached and bent over her, she’d be ready for him.

Sylvester rode up Ludgate Hill, looking for Hall Court. He saw Edward’s curricle first, drawn to the side of the thoroughfare and in the hands of an urchin who stood holding the reins, idly picking his teeth.

Edward was standing in the shadows at the entrance to Hall Court, his eyes fixed to the dóor through which Theo had been carried.

“Thank God Jonathan found you,” he breathed as Sylvester dismounted beside him. “I believe she’s still in there. Gerard’s phaeton is still there, at least.”

“Gerard? What’s Theo doing with that sewer rat?”

Edward, looking wretched, said, “She thought he might have the truth about Vimiera.”

Sylvester whitened. “You?”

Edward nodded in acute discomfort. “I hadn’t intended to, sir. It was gossip I heard in the Peninsula, and of course I didn’t believe it, but somehow Theo …” He shrugged. “After Lady Belmont’s reception she guessed something and, well, she wormed the story out of me. She didn’t believe it anymore than I did.”