An Inconvenient Arrangement: Rose Room Rogues ~ Book Three

by Callie Hutton

  He left the room and bounded up the stairs. It took him less than thirty minutes to pack everything he would need. He still hadn’t employed a valet, which was something he still fought against. He didn’t need to hire someone to tie his ascot or pull off his boots. Clothing that needed attention was sent out to a laundry near the club who also employed a seamstress.

  Lydia, however had brought a lady’s maid with her when she had left her father’s home. Since he hadn’t wanted anyone else with them for their honeymoon, he’d given the maid the time off, with pay, and acted as lady’s maid to his wife. Except there had only been one occasion to help her dress and that was when they were leaving the hotel to return home. He grinned at the thought.

  Just as he was snapping his bag closed, Lydia entered their bedchamber. “I see you’re ready to go. Just give me another half hour?”

  “Yes. I already told your maid, I forget her name—”

  “—Alice.”

  “Right. I already instructed her to start packing for a couple of days.”

  “Thank you. I will be as quick as possible because I know you want to stop at the club first.” She sped to her dressing room where her maid was folding dresses and placing them into a trunk. Dante picked up his satchel and headed downstairs.

  He found Hunt still in the library. Dante walked over to the sideboard and poured a brandy and held up the bottle to his brother.

  “Yes. I’ll take one. Only two fingers. I still have work to do.”

  They sipped their drinks in light conversation since Dante didn’t care to dwell too much on what he and Lydia could possibly be facing. He checked his timepiece three times before Lydia entered the library, pulling on her gloves. “I’m ready.”

  Dante downed the rest of his drink and placed the glass back on the sideboard. “Then let us be off.” He took her elbow and turned back to Hunt. “We shall be no more than a couple of days.”

  Hunt nodded. “Good luck. I hope Smith can help you. You are taking footmen with you?”

  “I have one, Lyons, plus the driver. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  “Are they carrying pistols?”

  “Yes.”

  After a hug from Diana at the door, they left the house and entered the carriage, Lyons riding on the back of the vehicle.

  The first stop at the club went well. He and Lydia both went up to the office where he talked to Driscoll and Keniel. They assured him all would be well while he was gone. They still had an hour before the train would leave, so some of Dante’s anxiety eased as they said their goodbyes and climbed back into the carriage.

  They started off for the train and immediately hit traffic. “It’s a good thing we allowed enough time. This is the last train to Bath today.” He tried to avoid the growing uneasiness at being stuck in a traffic snarl.

  The vehicle crawled along until with only twenty minutes left to spare they arrived at Paddington Station. Once they were inside the station, he said, “I will purchase the tickets. Stay with Lyons and the bags; I’ll send a porter over to collect them. Then meet me at the platform.” Dante gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and headed to the ticket counter.

  As oftentimes happened in life, the line was long and moved slowly. Dante kept checking his timepiece. Finally, he was able to purchase their tickets and headed back to the platform. Growing frantic, he reached the point where he pushed people aside so he could move along.

  He spotted Lydia who waved at him. He slumped with relief and continued toward her a few moments before she screamed and disappeared, the throng surrounding her swallowing her up.

  22

  Dante’s heart came to an abrupt halt, then started up with a vengeance when he heard Lydia scream. He raced forward, shoving people out of the way, knocking one gentleman to the ground, but kept going. As he reached the crowd huddled around her, his eyes flicked to a man racing away, looking back over his shoulder.

  Dante screamed and gestured toward the man. “Lyons, go stop that man.”

  He dropped to his knees and looked at his wife. She lay on her side, pale, with blood seeping on the ground from underneath her. “Lydia.” He placed his hand under her shoulders and gently pulled her forward. She groaned, and he was never so glad to hear that sound. At least she wasn’t dead.

  He looked up. “Please move back so I can attend my wife. Will someone summon a hackney?”

  “I will, sir.” A lad of about fifteen years spoke up.

  “Thank you.”

  Dante winced as he looked over her shoulder to see a large knife sticking out of her back, blood seeping from the wound. He felt his own blood leave his face and settle somewhere near his feet. He knew better than to try to remove the weapon since that would increase the blood flow. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

  Lydia’s eyelids flicked open and she licked her lips. “Yes. I have a terrible pain in my back.”

  Thinking it was not a good idea to tell her about the knife, he eased her close to him and spoke into her ear. “You’ve been injured. I’m taking you to hospital.”

  Just then a Bobbie broke into the crowd. “Say, what’s going on here? The young man outside said someone got hurt.”

  Dante looked up at the large man in a uniform of the London Metropolitan Police. “My wife has been injured. I need to get her to hospital. The young man just offered to summon a hackney.”

  The man nodded. “Lucky for you an ambulance was just returning to hospital after taking someone home.” He looked around and extended his arms. “Everyone move back, please.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m going to have to shift you a tiny bit to lift you into my arms.”

  Lydia nodded and bit on her lip as he placed his other arm under her knees. This was the most dangerous part. If he shifted her so the knife penetrated her lung she would be dead before they reached the ambulance.

  “Wait!” The young lad raced up. “The ambulance driver is bringing a stretcher.”

  Thank you, Lord. Lydia was growing weaker by the second. “I appreciate your help, young man.”

  “Dante,” she whispered and took his hand. “I don’t want to die.”

  He gritted his teeth, his stomach in knots. “You will not die. Do not even think that. The men with a stretcher are almost here. Soon you will be in hospital, and all will be well. I promise you.” He knew his words were abrupt and curt, but he was hanging onto his own sanity by a thin thread.

  Not necessarily a praying man, Dante prayed with all his heart for his wife to survive and for forgiveness for promising her she would not die. He had very little experience with knife wounds, but this one didn’t look good. He pushed those thoughts from his mind, or he would howl like a broken animal.

  “Move back, please,” the Bobbie said again. “Make room.”

  Slowly the gathering shuffled back, still gaping with morbid curiosity. Two men laid the stretcher on the ground next to Lydia.

  “You will have to place her face first. She has an injury on her back.” Dante hated releasing her, feeling as though as long as he held her he could keep her from dying.

  The men nodded and with more gentleness than what he’d expected they moved her and placed her on the stretcher. A few gasps came from the crowd at the sight of the large knife sticking out of her back. Dante placed his hands on the floor, fighting the dizziness that tried to overtake him at the sight.

  “Easy, lass, we’ll have you in hospital in no time.” One of the burly men holding the stretcher was a large Scot with long red flowing hair. He threw a blanket over her and then the two men lifted the stretcher. With a soft groan from Lydia, Dante was fairly certain that she’d passed out, which was good.

  He climbed into the ambulance with her and placed his finger on her neck. A slight pulse, but nevertheless, he felt it. During the short ride, which did seem to take forever, he had time to reflect. There was no doubt in his mind that this was attempted murder. Had they been standing together at the time, most likely the two of them would have been stabbed. Hopef
ully, Lyons had been able to catch the man and drag him to the police station for questioning. They could hardly call this an accident.

  Lydia remained unconscious the entire ride and then when she was carried into hospital. A doctor was summoned and quickly ordered Lydia to an operating room.

  “What happened?” the doctor asked as he and Dante followed the stretcher down a long corridor. The man oozed confidence. He was middle aged with silver streaks in his black hair. Just his presence was calming.

  Dante ran his fingers through his hair. “Since I assume you see the knife sticking out from her back, that much you know. I can’t give you more information for security purposes, but I am quite certain my wife was stabbed by a man—probably hired by another man—who has already killed two people.”

  The doctor merely shook his head. “I don’t know what this world is coming to.”

  Once they reached a set of double doors, the doctor turned to him. “I will leave you here. When I am finished, I will meet you in the waiting room back down this corridor on the right-hand side.”

  “Thank you.” Dante leaned over and kissed Lydia on her forehead and with a fear so great, he felt as though he would drop to his knees, he left.

  Feeling at odds with himself, he wandered the corridor to the room the doctor had mentioned. With a quick change of mind, he strode to the front desk that they passed on their way in. A young man sat there and looked up at his approach. “Yes, sir?”

  “I would like to send a note to family members. How do I do that?”

  “We have a runner who works for the hospital. If you use that desk over there,” he gestured to a small wooden desk next to the far wall, “I will have it delivered.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dante sat at the desk and found a stack of paper, two pens and a filled ink well. He penned a quick missive to Hunt, Driscoll and Lydia’s father, Lord Sterling. His notes were brief, but with the urgency he felt. He hadn’t wanted to trouble the doctor to give him any sort of prognosis since he’d rather have him working on Lydia, but the unknown was killing him.

  He paced the corridor, the front room, and the street outside. About every five minutes he checked the waiting room where he was to meet the doctor.

  All that time his head was spinning. One look at Lydia lying on the ground, pale-faced and looking as if she were already dead had hit him in the gut like a cannonball.

  He could not live without her. Oh, he would wake each day and do his work, but never again would he feel the joy and love, yes love, that he felt for his wife. The sun would never shine again, and he would go through each day simply waiting to die.

  What a fool he’d been thinking that leaping from one woman’s bed to another’s was a fulfilling life. He’d watched his two brothers succumb to their desire for their wives turn into love and laughed at them. Never would that happen to him, he assured his arrogant self.

  Even when he married Lydia he didn’t feel as though his heart was engaged. He liked her company, certainly desired her body, and thought if there were children, she would be a fine mother. But love?

  No. That wasn’t part of it.

  He folded his hands and tapped his lips with his index fingers and stared at the floor as he paced and thought of the time they’d had together. He smiled at the contention when they’d first met and how he thought her an upright, overly-moral spinster with her head in books. She, in turn, thought him an arrogant rake with no morals and very little to recommend himself.

  They were both wrong. Perhaps they brought the best out in each other. His head jerked up as Hunt and Diana came racing through the hospital door. “How is she? Your note didn’t say much.” Diana sat on a hard wooden chair in the front room and attempted to catch her breath.

  Dante shrugged. “I haven’t seen her or talked to the doctor since we brought her in.” He waved to the waiting room. “Why don’t we sit in there? That is where the doctor said he would meet me when the procedure was over.”

  They had barely settled when Driscoll and Amelia joined them, with Lord Sterling on their heels. The poor man looked dreadful. He was as pale as Lydia had been and looked as though he’d aged ten years. “How is my daughter? What happened?”

  There was simply no way to answer in a kind way. “She was stabbed in the back at Paddington Station while I was buying our tickets. We had been working on that Home Office assignment, which is now finished, and were warned that we might be in danger. We were on our way to Bath to consult with a friend who might be able to help us when Lydia was attacked.” He ran his fingers through his hair again. “We had a footman with us, but the culprit took advantage of the crowded station.”

  Dante hopped up and began to pace, slamming his fist into his palm. “I should have taken a carriage instead of the train. Or I should have left Lydia here under protection. I should have—”

  Hunt stood and stepped in front of his brother. “Stop this, Dante. Two people were killed while being fully guarded. Let’s just make sure Lydia is all right, and then, like it or not, the two of you need to be shipped off to the country until this is straightened out.”

  Everyone was assuming Lydia would be all right. But none of them had seen the knife. The huge knife sticking out of his wife’s slender back. He felt as though he wanted to slam his fist into the wall.

  “Mr. Rose.” Dante turned to see the doctor standing in the doorway. He was covered in blood. Lydia’s blood. Black dots appeared in Dante’s eyes and he thought for a moment he would disgrace himself and pass out like some swooning debutante.

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes. How is she doctor?”

  The second it took the doctor to answer terrified him. Was she dead? Oh God, no. Please don’t take her from me. I will be the best husband in all of England. I will tell her how much I love her dozens of times a day.

  “It was a terrible wound,” the doctor began. “Fortunately for her the knife missed her lung and her heart. That would probably have taken her life. Upon examination it appeared no main arteries were involved. We cleaned her up, stitched the wound closed and I am confident the young lady will survive.”

  Dante covered his face with his hands, then turned on his heels and left the room. He barreled through the front door of the hospital and charged down the street, going nowhere, tears sliding down his cheeks. She would not die. He would have her for years. And years, and years.

  Forever.

  “Dante, for heaven’s sake. I’m fine. Stop coddling me.” Lydia grew grouchier by the day and she felt bad about that. But the man she married, the arrogant, devil-may-care rake had become a hovering nanny.

  It had been three weeks since she’d been stabbed at Paddington Station. She understood from Hunt and Driscoll that Dante had been almost crazed with panic that she would die. But he refused to leave her alone since she arrived back from hospital.

  Even while under guards that he had hired while she was there hadn’t assuaged his fear. Once dismissed from hospital, he’d kept her in their bedchamber at Hunt’s townhouse while he scoured London looking for the man who had stabbed her. Lyons had done his best, but the man managed to escape in the crowd the day she’d been stabbed.

  “I’m not coddling you,” he said in answer to her complaint. “I just want you to take it easy for a while.”

  She sighed. “It’s been three weeks. I can certainly take a stroll outside.”

  He opened his mouth, most likely to once again tell her nothing was safe when a knock on the door drew their attention.

  Hunt entered at their permission, a cream-colored envelope in his hand. “This just came by special delivery for you.” He handed it to Dante.

  “Thank you.” He slid the paper out of the envelope and looked over at Lydia, who sat on the settee in the chamber, her arms crossed, scowling at him. His eyes moved back and forth as he read the missive. He folded the paper and placed it on the table in front of her. “It’s over.”

  She uncrossed her arms and sat forward, winc
ing slightly at the remaining pain in her back. “What?”

  Hunt sauntered over and sat next to her, taking her hand in his.

  “Was that from the Home Office?”

  “Yes.” Dante leaned back and rested his foot on his knee. “They apparently were able to connect the Ambassador to the murders of his contact and her lover, as well as your attempted murder.”

  Lydia’s jaw dropped. “He was the one behind it? But I thought he’d been granted immunity because of his status. Why would he want to see us dead?”

  “Dear old boy Mr. Ambassador, was also working with the Russians. He was being investigated by the German government for that. When I visited with Sir Phillip while you were recovering, he gave me that information. It was for that reason the Ambassador had not been called back to Germany. They were doing their own investigation and planned to use us and the other two as witnesses against him. Especially with your knowledge of Russian.”

  Lydia shook her head. “This is quite complicated. I remember the woman he received the information from spoke to him in Russian. It never occurred to me he was selling information from England to Russia, and not his own country.”

  “He was probably doing both. A very special sort of traitor.”

  The three sat in silence processing the information. Finally, Dante stood and walked to the fireplace behind the settee and leaned his arm on the mantel. “That note,” he gestured with his head at the envelope still sitting on the table, “was to advise us that the Ambassador committed suicide yesterday.”

  Lydia sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, no. That’s terrible.”

  Dante looked over at her and smiled. “Sweetheart, the man tried to have you killed.”

  “Yes. That is true.” She stood and moved over to Dante, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning onto his strong, warm chest. “I’m just so glad it’s over.”

  He rested his chin on her head. “Me too, sweetheart, me too.”