A Lady Unrivaled

by Roseanna M. White

  It was no wonder Felicity hadn’t wanted to call this woman. Kira drew in a deep breath that didn’t calm her and worked to keep the Russian from her words. “Felicity wants me to stay.”

  The midwife sneered. “She’s a child. She doesn’t know what she wants. Now get out before I call someone to drag you out.”

  There was no one here who would, with all the men banished, but Kira didn’t point that out either. Even the other maids had scurried away for their half day off when Mrs. Higgins told them to go, once the midwife arrived. The housekeeper was the only staff still here, and she certainly wouldn’t interfere on this shrew’s behalf.

  “Martha, stop.” Felicity panted and fell back onto her pillows again. Sweat gleamed on her forehead in the lamplight, and her face was so very pale. “She is my friend. My husband is dead. At least grant me my friend.”

  Kira’s fingers curled into her coarse skirt. If she closed her eyes, she saw Felicity seizing again, there on her bed. And then she heard again that first cry of pain as the convulsions sent her into labor.

  Martha sniffed. “You never did know how to choose your friends, Felicity. First you let your mistress make a puppy of you, following her around, and now some foreigner?”

  Felicity pinched her nose. Her head hurt, she’d said. Terribly.

  It wasn’t good. It was so very far from good, and the doctor was nowhere to be found, and the hospital too far away. Kira, ignoring the useless midwife, sank to her knees beside the bed and squeezed Felicity’s hand. “Tell me what you need. A drink?”

  “Don’t be a fool—she can’t have anything to drink while she’s in labor.” Martha pushed her aside. “Now. Tell me who the father is, Felicity. I’m bound by law to report it.”

  Felicity’s eyes burned bright as fever. Her gaze met Kira’s over Martha’s sharp shoulder. “Get Lady Pratt.”

  Yes. If anyone could put this woman in her place, it was Lady Pratt. Kira spun from the room and ran through the house. It felt empty with the servants gone, with no baby squeals from the nursery.

  She shook it off and kept going. Lady Pratt had reverted to hollowness again, but this might just rouse her. Spark her anger on behalf of the maid she was so fond of, remind her of who she was. Kira didn’t much like who she was, but she certainly knew how to talk down to people, and that was what they needed just now.

  With a cursory rap on the door, she let herself in.

  Lady Pratt sat in a chair by the window, her hands idle. She looked up when Kira came in, then back to the outside. “I heard screams. I trust it isn’t Felicity in labor, or surely someone would have fetched me.”

  She was already angry, Kira could see that now in the way her hands gnarled around each other, in the rigid line of her back.

  Felicity’s first screams had been two hours ago. She hadn’t come down, hadn’t investigated—had she just sat here the whole time, too proud to come unless she was asked?

  Kira sighed. “She had another seizure, my lady. I feared leaving her, and Mrs. Higgins had everyone trying to find the doctor or midwife, then sent them out of the house. This is the first I could get away. She wants you.”

  For a moment, Kira thought pride would keep on holding her there in her chair. But it wasn’t Felicity she was angry with. She exhaled in a gust, stood, nodded. “Of course I’ll come. I’ll— Cris!”

  The door crashed the rest of the way open behind Kira, making her jump out of the way.

  Rushworth thundered in, but not alone. He had Lady Ella by the arm—her wrists were tied behind her back, a gag in her mouth, and her hem and shoes were caked in mud. Her face, however, looked perfectly calm.

  Dorsey was the last to enter, closing the door behind him. He had a gun in his hand—and that same look in his eye as when he’d trailed his fingers through Felicity’s blood.

  Kira slid backward until the wall welcomed her.

  Catherine’s expression edged toward panic. “What are you doing? Cris, what have you done?”

  Another cry echoed through the house.

  Rushworth removed the gag from Lady Ella’s mouth with surprising tenderness. “I’m sorry to have had to do that, darling. But it was for your own good. If you spoil his chance at a fortune, Dorsey probably wouldn’t listen to a thing I say. No one would really notice if you scream now, though.”

  “Cris.” Catherine’s voice shook along with the hand hovering at her mouth. “Cris, you’re not like him. You . . . you swore you’d never do this. Kidnapping? You’re not like Pratt.”

  “I hadn’t any choice, Kitty. He’s moved up his deadline. We’ve only got a week to get the diamonds to Paris, or he’ll kill you.” Rushworth drew a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, held it out. No one took it. With a shrug, he dropped it onto the bed and then stroked Lady Ella’s cheek. “You understand that, don’t you? You would do anything to protect your family. You don’t want anything to happen to Nottingham or his very pregnant wife.”

  Kira pressed her palms to the wallpaper behind her. Andrei. He had sent a threat, even though she was here. Didn’t he care that he might be ruining everything? Putting her in danger? Putting so many innocent people in even worse danger?

  No. He cared only that he got his diamonds.

  Lady Ella somehow managed to smile. “Of course I understand, Rush. You can untie me. I won’t fight you.” She darted a glance at Dorsey and shuddered.

  Dorsey grinned like a wolf.

  “In a moment. Once Kitty promises she’ll be on her best behavior while I see to this nasty business. You can stay here with her, Ella, out of harm’s way, since the house is all but empty.”

  Catherine still stared at him in horror. “You’re going to get us all arrested or worse. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see that this crazed pursuit of the Fire Eyes will be your undoing? I don’t want a part in it, I told you that! I’m through, I’ve already lost too much!”

  Rushworth’s face twitched. He took a step away. Lifted a hand. That was all, just lifted a hand and quirked a finger.

  Dorsey started forward.

  “No!” Catherine scrambled away, over the bed, obviously aiming for the door. “You promised. You swore he’d never touch me!”

  “Calm down, Kitty. He’s just going to tie you up.”

  Kira inched toward the door, praying they wouldn’t even notice her against the wall. If she could get it open, make ready an escape for Catherine . . . That would still leave Ella in the room, but if the men pursued Catherine and Kira, she could get away.

  Rushworth got to the door first and sent Kira a disappointed look. “You were supposed to make her accept the inevitable. I swear, it’s so hard to find good help these days.”

  Catherine screamed, jerking Kira’s attention back to the corner where she huddled, the bed and the wall providing too narrow a passage, Dorsey looming.

  Ella had somehow scrambled over the bed too, despite her hands being tied, and jumped between them.

  Dorsey growled. “Rush! Your woman’s in my way.”

  Rushworth gave Kira a push away from the door. “This is getting rather annoying. Ella, darling, I’ll be kind and godly and perfectly good in a few days, I promise you—but just now I’m trying to save my sister’s life. So if you would kindly step aside, I need to keep her from ruining it all and getting herself killed.”

  Ella didn’t move, didn’t look away from Dorsey. “Call off your dog, Rush. Catherine won’t do anything stupid.”

  “History says otherwise.” He gave Kira another shove. “Look, how about the three of you lovely ladies just sit on the bed for a moment, hmm? Before Dorsey loses his restraint.”

  Since it seemed the only good chance to keep everyone unharmed, Kira moved to obey—and reached over to press Catherine into doing the same. Once they were both on the edge of the mattress, Ella slid to a seat beside them.

  “Thank you. You may be useful yet, Lareau. Another reason we came here, actually . . .” He drew out another paper and handed it to her. “This arrived
last night, and I hadn’t the time to find another translator. If you would?”

  Kira took the paper and skimmed through the Russian words. From an investigator, it seemed, trying to discover the identity of Rushworth’s buyer. “He seems to think it is Prince Vitaly. His daughter has been heard speaking of red diamonds she will soon have.” That stupid, stupid girl.

  “Prince Vitaly.” Rushworth seemed to be storing the name away, though apparently not making an immediate connection to the princess who had supposedly recommended her. Westerners rarely understood their naming system. “Does he include any information on him? How dangerous he is?”

  “Yes, but . . .” Kira sighed and put the paper aside. She couldn’t let them die—and they would, if Rushworth thought he was facing only the prince. He would do something foolish, try to cross him, and they would all pay. “It is not the prince. Your man is wrong. Andrei Varennikov is the one who wants the diamonds.”

  The tic in Rushworth’s jaw proved he knew the name. “Andrei Varennikov. The merchant who owns half of Russia.”

  Dorsey pressed the gun to Kira’s head. “And you know this how, hen?”

  She straightened her spine and kept her gaze on Rushworth rather than Dorsey. “Because I am not Sophie Lareau. I am not a lady’s maid. I am Kira Belova, of the Ballet Russe. Andrei’s mistress.”

  She expected Ella to recoil from her. Certainly not to turn toward her, eyes wide. “But you’re Brook’s friend, then! She has a poster with you on it. Her grandfather sent it. You’re listed as the prima ballerina.”

  “Do not tell her, please—that I am here, that I . . . that I am his . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut.

  The gun pressed harder to her forehead. “Well, well. Quite a ‘somebody else,’ love. What you want me to do with her, Rush? I can take her out into the wood. Won’t take me but half an hour to take care of her. Bury her near where I did that stupid bloke who wouldn’t cooperate. Think anyone will mourn you like his little wife did him, hmm?”

  Stew? He’d killed Stew? She blinked back unexpected tears. But kept her eyes shut—to keep out some of the horror. He must have tried to buy him off, to feed Rushworth information—“he’d never met a stranger,” Felicity had said. He knew everyone, everyone loved him. He would have been a perfect spy, in that regard. But if he was anything like Felicity described, he wouldn’t have had it.

  And it cost him his life.

  A prayer formed on her lips. She didn’t want to die, didn’t want to suffer whatever else Dorsey would do to her first. She wanted to get everyone out of this, to find a way home to Russia. To walk up to that little cottage she had once only wanted to escape and cry with her grandmother and fight with her brothers and breathe in the scent of her father and grandfather. She wanted to hear someone call her Kiraka and yell at her for all she’d done wrong and pull her close and tell her it was never too late to do what she should.

  “Later. I need her to help with my sister for now. Keep her calm, La . . . Belova. Keep both of them calm. Tell them a few stories about how ruthless your man is, what would happen if we don’t deliver these gems by the twelfth of April. Tell them of how he strikes for the heart, which is why he has promised to tear my sister limb from limb to get the diamonds from me.” Footsteps sounded, even and unhurried, as Rushworth moved toward the door. “Dorsey—outside the door. Eyes peeled, ears attentive. You’re only to come in if it sounds as though they’re trying to escape, and if I find you entered when you shouldn’t have, you’ll regret it.”

  Kira opened her eyes just as Dorsey pulled the gun away. He smiled at her, and it looked exactly like the charming one she’d found so attractive just a few days ago. “Soon, hen. Soon.”

  She scooted a little closer to Ella.

  Rushworth opened the door. “I’ll be back with the diamonds. If Cayton happens to come home, or anyone else who would interfere, shoot him. And if the ladies make noise enough to bring the housekeeper or midwife up here, shoot Belova.”

  Dorsey’s grin widened. “Yessir.”

  Ella leaned in until their shoulders touched. When the door closed behind the men, she murmured, “I’m not sure which of them is the bigger monster.”

  Catherine surged from the bed. “A useless question—they feed on each other, make each other worse. I am not even sure which of them came up with this plan.” She spun to face them, her glare focused on Ella. “I told you. I warned you. And what do you do? You go and fall in love with Cayton and are stupid enough to kiss him where Cris’s spies can see!”

  Ella’s shoulders finally sagged. “Did you honestly think I could fall for your brother? If he hadn’t protected you all your life, would you even like him? When he would sic that monster on you?”

  Catherine leaned against the wall at her back, face pained and eyes closed. “Will this Russian really kill me? So gruesomely?”

  Another of Felicity’s cries echoed through the walls. Kira’s breath shuddered. They should be down there with her. Not trapped up here, a madman with a gun at the door.

  “No.”

  Catherine opened her eyes, and Kira met her gaze head on. Her voice, she knew, hadn’t sounded promising. “He has men like Dorsey to do it for him.”

  Catherine, shoulders sagging, sat on the bed again and went to work on the ropes binding Lady Ella’s wrists. “So be it. If it will end all this madness, then . . . let them come. I’ll turn myself over to them.”

  “No.” Ella slipped one hand free when she could, rubbed it against her leg. “You’re not going to die over the diamonds, Kitty. We’ll find another way.”

  Kira expected a harsh reply. Instead, Catherine’s head bent forward, and she sniffed. “Is that your infernal optimism speaking, or do you actually believe it?”

  Her second hand free too, Ella reached for Catherine’s. “I believe it.”

  Catherine looked up, and something odd and unexpected lit her eyes. It took Kira a long moment to realize it was hope. “All right, then. We’re in this together—we’ll solve it together. We’ll stop them. No one gets hurt.”

  “No one gets hurt.”

  Kira drew in a long breath. They had far more faith than she had.

  Cayton whipped another branch out of his way, huffing a bit as he came up the last rise, to their rendezvous. Stafford and Nottingham were already there, every bit as muddy as he was, and looking every bit as dour.

  “There were prints in the copse near the little road heading south.” Stafford’s nostril flared. “Two horses, then footprints. Looked like a scuffle, and they led to the road. Tire marks. A car.”

  The tight ball in his chest twisted and churned. “He’s taken her.”

  Nottingham ran a hand through his once-immaculate hair. “Was Rushworth at your house this morning?”

  “Yes. Yes, he . . . he threatened me. I left soon after, in the carriage. He could have taken my car.” How could this be happening? He should have disabled the thing. But it hadn’t occurred to him. The car always got stuck in the mud, and his only thought was to leave as quickly as possible. To get Addie out of the house, and to convince Ella to take her to Midwynd.

  But all that time he’d spent in the village, arranging things . . . all that time Ella could have been missing. Rushworth could—likely did—have her even now. He could have knocked her out. Tied her up. Trapped her in some dank, foul hole that would contain her sunshine.

  Nottingham started back for the castle, his step not so slow now. “Someone has to have seen something. Servants?”

  Cayton shook his head. “Mine were all sent out—a maid is in labor.” Then his eyes went wide, and he dragged in a breath. “His valet is likely helping him—but Kitty’s maid stayed there, with Felicity. She could have seen something—she would tell us if she did.”

  Stafford nodded. “We’ll send someone to ask her.”

  Nottingham’s pace increased still more. “He has to be somewhere nearby. Stafford, where would he take her?”

  His cousin shook his head. “We’ve
searched all the places I know to check. Cayton likely knows them better than I do—he grew up here. If there is a dark hole or abandoned building somewhere, I daresay he explored it as a child. Or we can ask Brook, she has explored incessantly too, and she always seems to know where to direct us when we’re looking for Ella.”

  Nottingham looked to Cayton. “Can you make us a list of the places you know? How to find them?”

  “Of course.” Assuming he could convince his hand to uncurl from its fist.

  They hurried in silence for a nerve-racking five minutes until the castle finally came within view again. Then Nottingham drew in a shaky breath. “What will he do to her? I don’t know him that well. I don’t know what to pray against.”

  Stafford shook his head.

  Cayton sighed. “He . . . he loves her, as much as he knows how. I don’t think he’d harm her, but he may . . . He obviously plans to run once he gets the diamonds. He may try to force her to go with him.”

  Nottingham’s lips thinned.

  Their pace increased until they were running, and every footfall became a prayer. Please, Lord, protect her. Lead us to her. Help us find her.

  Stafford led the way into the castle, bellowing for his butler. Mr. Norton appeared straightaway with a bow. “Your Grace?”

  “My wife. Do you know where she is?”

  Mr. Norton’s brows lifted. “She and the Duchess of Nottingham went out, Your Grace. And Your Grace. And my lord.”

  The dukes stared at each other. “Went out?” Nottingham echoed. “With my wife in the state she is?”

  “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I tried to dissuade them, and the duchess’s—of Nottingham, I mean—lady’s maid was beside herself to find her mistress not resting when she returned from looking for Lady Ella. But the duchess—of Stafford, that is—was quite insistent. As she often is. She said they must compose a reply to the note.”

  Cayton’s blood ran cold. “What note?”

  “I certainly don’t know, my lord. It came addressed to the duke, but she snapped it up. As she often does.” Mr. Norton inclined his head, apology clear in his eyes.