* * *
It was several hours later when a sharp disturbance intruded into her peace.
“Please, my lord, the doctor has left a strict command that Miss Stanholte is not to be disturbed,” an upstairs maid was desperately saying. “If you would come back in the morning—”
“I have no intention of disturbing Miss Stanholte, but neither do I intend to leave this establishment until I have assured myself that she is still alive. Trust me, it will be easier all around if you simply step aside and allow me to have my way.”
Lying on the bed, swimming somewhere between consciousness and engulfing darkness, Cassie listened to the distant exchange with weary humor. If she possessed the strength, she would have warned the unwary maid that arguing with Lord Mumford was a waste of breath. But at the moment, it took all her energy to fight back the burning pain in her shoulder. The maid would simply have to fend for herself.
“The doctor told me the mistress was not to be wakened until the morning.”
“I am certain the doctor is a fine gentleman, but I have a vast amount of experience in caring for this impetuous, occasionally insane female and I will not rest easy until I have seen her for myself.”
“My lord—”
“Stand aside.”
“Here, here.” The firm voice of Mrs. Green intruded in the argument. “What is the trouble?”
“I have come to see Miss Stanholte,” Lord Mumford announced in aggressive tones, clearly prepared to have his way. Mary, however, was not easily intimidated. Not even by a six-foot lord with enough arrogance to fill all of England.
“Yes, well, you needn’t disturb the entire household,” she chided. “That will be all, Emma.”
“Yes, mum.”
There was a silence as the maid departed, no doubt to spread the rumor that Lord Mumford was forcing his way into the mistress’s bedchamber.
“How is she?” Luke at last demanded.
“She’ll live, no thanks to that blackguard.”
“I want to see her.”
“I won’t have her disturbed,” the housekeeper warned.
With an inward sigh, Cassie at last conceded defeat. It was futile to hope the gentleman would be swayed by the doctor’s orders, or even by the sheer indecency of being in her private rooms.
“Oh, for goodness sakes, let him in,” she commanded in weak tones. “It is the only means I shall have of gaining peace.”
Mary snorted her disapproval as Lord Mumford crossed the room and then boldly perched on the edge of the bed. In the shadowed room, his face appeared remarkably pale and his eyes as dark as night. Grasping her slender fingers, he struggled to conjure his normal composure.
“As charming as ever, I see.” His gaze moved to the heavy bandage at her shoulder. “How do you feel?”
She grimaced, well aware that she had been unbelievably fortunate.
“As if I had just been shot,” she retorted in wry tones.
Unexpectedly, his features twisted with a flare of sheer fury.
“One day I shall take great pleasure in hanging Toby and his companions.” Then with an effort he forced himself to take in a calming breath. “I do not suppose you could identify the man who shot you?”
Cassie gave a sudden shiver. “No. He was wearing a scarf over his face.”
“Did he wear a gray coat?”
“I do not recall . . .” Cassie’s voice trailed away as a vivid image flashed through her mind. “Wait. Yes. Yes, it was gray.”
Luke’s eyes abruptly narrowed, his hand tightly grasping her fingers.
“You are not safe here,” he growled.
After this morning, she had to agree. Not even her stubborn nature could deny that only sheer luck had saved her life. Someone most desperately wished to be rid of her.
But who?
“And where would I be safe, my lord?” she demanded in weary tones.
“I could find you a house outside of London—”
“And have everyone presume I am your mistress?” she interrupted.
He gave a restless shake of his head, frustration carved into his lean countenance. “The devil take it. At least you would be away from Toby.”
“I will only be safe when I have proven Lady Stanholte is a fraud,” Cassie pointed out, wincing as the throbbing in her shoulder deepened.
As if sensing she was in no condition for their usual sparring, he gave a rueful smile.
“Then that is what we will do.” Slowly he lifted her hand to his mouth, placing a lingering kiss on her fingers before turning her hand over and stroking his lips over her inner wrist. The caress was a poignant reminder of the first occasion he had kissed her in such a fashion, and a pleasant heat stirred in her stomach. “Rest now.”
From lowered lids Cassie watched as Lord Mumford rose to his feet and moved across to where Mrs. Green guarded the door with a forbidding expression. He paused for a moment as he spoke to the housekeeper in a low tone, no doubt issuing commands in his usual arrogant manner. At the moment, however, Cassie was in too much pain to protest.
Instead she gratefully sank back into the waiting darkness.
Twelve
Leaving the bedchamber, Luke determinedly headed for the servants’ quarters. The grim expression on his handsome features ensured that even the most seasoned of the staff refrained from attempting to halt his progress.
Luke never noted the nervous maids and pageboys that scurried for safety at his approach. Instead he brooded on the fragile maiden he had left sleeping on the bed upstairs.
When he had first learned of the incident, he had nearly ridden straight for the theater to strangle the pathetic life from Toby. After all, he had been quite certain the vile creature had been responsible for the attack.
But the need to see and touch Miss Stanholte had overwhelmed the lethal impulse. He would deal with Toby before the day was through, but not until he had assured his frantic heart that he had not lost the only woman who could stir his emotions.
Now, the fury that he had been forced to suppress once again coursed through his body. He wanted to know precisely what had occurred, and then he intended to track down the villain responsible.
Entering the kitchen, he spotted a startled footman sipping his tea.
“Fetch the groom,” he commanded in abrupt tones.
Without hesitation, the young man scrambled to his feet and hurried out a side door. Within moments, a grizzled man with a ruddy expression and silver hair entered the kitchen and gave an awkward bow. Luke did not have to look closely to tell that the servant had been crying, and he forced back his hasty words of reprimand. The poor man was clearly distraught over what had happened.
“You asked to see me, my lord?” he asked, twisting his hands in a nervous manner.
“I wish to know every detail of what occurred.”
The lean face twitched at the memory. “T’ain’t much to say. We come around the corner and this cove jumped out of the bushes. He hopped onto the carriage afore we could halt him.”
Luke silently pondered the information. The attack had clearly been well prepared. And by someone who had known precisely where to wait for the carriage.
His heart twisted with fear.
“Then what?”
“We heard a shot and the bloke was running away.”
“You are certain he was alone?”
“Difficult to say, sir,” the groom conceded. “It all happened so fast.”
“Yes, I imagine so.”
The pale eyes watered as he peered carefully up at Luke. Rather like a faithful hound who had just received a sound beating.
“Miss Stanholte ... how do she be?”
A sharp pain lanced through Luke as he recalled the slender form lying upon the bed. How tiny and helpless she had appeared. Just as the first time he had seen her, lying upon that damp London street. And now, as then, he had been nearly undone by the fierce need to protect her.
“A simple flesh wound.” He set the anxious ma
n’s mind at ease. “Thankfully, the assailant appeared to be a shockingly poor shot. Or perhaps he simply lost his nerve.”
The sad expression was suddenly hardened with a burst of anger. “I should like to get me hands on the rotter. Better be shot meself rather than know Miss Stanholte be injured.”
Luke gave a humorless laugh. “You shall have to wait your turn,” he warned. “I shall have first go at the scoundrel.”
“Do you know who he be?”
Luke’s hands unconsciously clenched as he allowed his thoughts to turn toward the hatchet-faced Toby.
“Yes, and after this evening he will no longer be troubling Miss Stanholte.” He paused, his gaze narrowed with purpose. “But that, unfortunately, does not ensure Miss Stanholte’s safety.”
As expected, the loyal servant readily squared his shoulders. “What can I do?”
“Good man.” Luke smiled, sensing the man would risk his own life before he would allow anything to happen to his young mistress. “I want you to inform me of anyone who appears interested in Miss Stanholte.”
The groom nodded. “Aye.”
“Somehow the assailant knew where you would be today and where to stand in order to attack,” Luke muttered, the thought sending a chill down his spine.
“A pox on his black soul,” the man cursed.
Luke fully echoed the dark sentiment. Although he wished more than a pox on him.
“And keep a close watch on the servants,” he commanded in stern tones. “If someone within the household is willing to sell information regarding Miss Stanholte, then I want their head on a platter.”
“I’ll put it there meself,” the groom solemnly promised. “Anything else, my lord?”
Luke grimaced as he patted the man on the shoulder. “Pray.”
The silver head dipped in agreement. “Aye, I will be doing that.”
Unable to withstand the burning need to take action, any action, Luke abruptly turned to make his way through the quiet house and back into the street where his own groom was patiently walking the high-strung grays. At his approach, the servant moved to pull down the step for Luke to climb up to the high perch of the phaeton.
Taking the reins, Luke motioned for the man to join him on the padded seat. He had a great deal to accomplish in a short amount of time and he wanted to ensure that nothing went wrong.
* * *
It was several hours later when Luke entered the abandoned cottage well outside of London. Although the house and lands belonged to the Crown, it was often used for covert meetings or to hide individuals who needed to disappear for a time. Now he grimly headed through the vacant rooms to a back chamber that could be bolted from the outside. Standing guard outside the door, Jameson gave his employer a slight nod.
“He has awakened, my lord.”
“Thank you, Jameson.”
With a swift motion, Luke shoved aside the bolt and opened the heavy door. Inside the cramped chamber, the only furnishings were a straw pallet and a chair. A lone candle burned in the center of the stone floor. Slowly rising to his feet, Toby glared at Luke through blurry eyes.
It had taken Jameson less than an hour to track the narrow-faced gentleman to a disreputable gin house, and only moments to lure him into a back alley where Luke had expertly knocked him unconscious and loaded him into the carriage. Luke had then ordered the groom to go on to the cottage while Luke remained in London to ensure that Ramsel maintained a constant guard on Miss Stanholte. He had also placed a guard on Nell Maggert on the off chance the scar-faced gentleman returned. Only then did he gather his mount and make his way through the early morning light to the remote cottage.
Now he slowly lowered himself into the wooden chair, his expression formidable enough to make Toby press himself against the stone wall.
“Where am I?” the thin man croaked.
Luke narrowed his gaze. “That is the least of your concerns, old chap.”
Toby’s own gaze nervously darted about the shadowed room, no doubt searching for a means of escape. It took only a moment to realize it was a futile hope.
“What do yer want?”
“Your neck in a noose.”
The already pale countenance faded to white. “Blimey.”
Luke smiled in a dangerous manner. “But first I need information.”
“I ain’t tellin’ yer nothin’,” the prisoner attempted to bluster.
“Oh, I believe you will.” With deadly ease Luke reached beneath his caped driving coat to withdraw a loaded pistol. He waited until Toby’s dubious nerve failed and he was once again cowering against the wall. “Who hired you to harm Miss Stanholte?”
“I ... some gent with a scar,” he at last stammered.
“That much I know.” Luke waved the pistol in a negligent manner. “What is his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“I am in no humor for lies,” Luke warned in harsh tones.
Toby swallowed heavily. “I ain’t tellin’ no lies.”
“I know that you work for this gentleman.”
“Yes, but he never say his name,” Toby hastily claimed, his gaze warily tracking the gun. “He just come to the theater when he needs me.”
Luke was unimpressed. “A clever bloke like you would have no difficulty finding out a mere name. And you would hardly be foolish enough to become employed by a stranger. Better men than you have become acquainted with the hangman’s noose for taking coin from a criminal.”
A sudden grimace twisted the narrow face as Toby lifted a hand to stroke a fresh scar on his neck.
“I might have poked about a bit, but the gent soon enuf convinced me it be a dangerous habit.”
Luke felt a thrust of annoyance. The mystery man was even more clever than he had anticipated. Clearly, the man had suspected Toby was basically a weak man and would swiftly confess all when his own neck was being threatened. He had ensured that his identity would remain a secret.
“You must know something,” Luke growled.
Toby nervously licked his lips. “I know that while his clothes be fancy enuf, his mount be rented and his boots borrowed or stolen.”
Luke gave the scoundrel credit for being observant, but he was far from appeased. This man had very nearly killed Miss Stanholte. Luke wanted answers and he wanted them now.
He pointed the pistol directly at Toby. “It is hardly unusual for a gentleman to live above his means. I want more.”
In the dim light, Luke could see Toby’s chest pump in and out as he struggled to breathe.
“I also managed to follow him to a neighborhood not far from the theater afore he give me the slip,” he desperately confessed.
“Better,” Luke relented. “Did he order you to kill Miss Stanholte today?”
Obviously sensing that a lie would prove more dangerous than the truth, Toby gave a slow nod of his head.
“Yes. He came yesterday and says he needs her out of the way.”
Luke trembled with the effort not to react to the chilling words. As much as he might long to horsewhip this cur, he knew that it was far more important that he find out the identity of the scar-faced gentleman. Only then could he ensure that Miss Stanholte was safe.
“How did you know where she would be?”
“I paid the cook’s son to tell me where she be groin’.”
Luke vaguely recalled am imp who was always darting among the mews. The lad was barely more than twelve and could have little understanding of the danger of passing along such information. Although Luke had every intention of providing the boy with a stern lecture.
Now he regarded Toby with a piercing gaze. “What do you know of Liza?”
“Liza?” Toby shifted with restless unease. “The only Liza I be knowin’ worked at the theater until a few months ago. Then she and her brat disappeared.”
“Where did she go?”
“She didn’t say, and I never asked.”
“Did you ever see her with your employer?”
“Naw.”
Toby’s brow furrowed as if he were considering the notion of Liza’s connection with the scar-faced gentleman for the first time. “But she used to say how she was marrying a real gent and soon she would have a fine home and plenty of the blunt.” Toby abruptly grimaced. “ ’Course, Liza always did lay her bet on a losing horse.”
Luke regarded the thin man with a twisted smile. “Much like yourself, eh, Toby?”
Toby’s gaze moved back to the pistol in Luke’s hand. “What are yer goin’ to do with me?”
For a moment Luke allowed the ruffian to fear the worse. He had terrified Miss Stanholte for days and almost stolen her life hours before. He deserved to feel the same fear.
At last consumed with his need to return to Miss Stanholte’s side, Luke gave a negligent shrug.
“Eventually you will be handed over to the magistrate. Until then you can remain here.”
Toby pushed away from the wall, his expression horrified. “You can’t leave me here.”
“Would you prefer to return to the theater?” Luke demanded with cold indifference. “No doubt your employer is even now searching for you. He did not impress me as a gentleman who would accept failure gracefully, but perhaps you know him better than I.”
A thin hand rose to stroke the scar on his neck, but Toby was clearly more frightened of the magistrate than his black-hearted employer.
“I can take care of meself.”
“Perhaps, but I do not intend to allow you to risk your worthless neck as long as I have need of you.” Luke rose to his feet, his countenance without mercy. “Make yourself comfortable, Toby. You are not going anywhere for a while.”
* * *
“My dear, what an exquisite gown.”
Bearing down on Cassie with the determination of an advancing general, Lady Pembroke regarded the simple silk gown in mint green with silver netting with approval. The pure lines added an elegance to Cassie’s slight frame. To complement the attire, the golden curls were piled high atop her head with delicate diamond clips. Although Cassie knew the gown suited her fair coloring, she had chosen it for the practical fact that the style of the gown covered the angry scar that still marred the skin of her shoulder.
Lord Mumford's Minx Page 14