A Breath of Scandal

by Connie Mason

  Lara raised up on her elbows. Her head started to spin. “I don’t feel well.”

  Crockett grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Ye haven’t been hurt yet but yer trying my patience.”

  “Who is the Jackal and what does he want with me?”

  “Ye’ll find out soon enough. I had the cook wrap up something for ye to eat in the coach. Come along, now, no dawdling.”

  Lara was hustled downstairs and into the coach. Crockett climbed in after her and thrust a greasy cloth sack into her hands. “Eat, it may be all ye’ll get for a while.”

  The smell made Lara nauseous. She set the sack aside. “I’m not hungry.”

  Crockett shrugged. “Suit yerself.”

  The day dragged by endlessly. Lara knew they were getting close to London for she recognized familiar landmarks. She was hungry, but she still couldn’t stomach the food Crockett had offered.

  Lara hugged the secret of Julian’s child to herself, aware of the pressure on her to save the innocent babe she carried. She wanted this child fiercely, and hoped Julian would want it once she told him. Perhaps having a baby with her would be exactly what Julian needed to finally relegate Diana to his past, where she belonged.

  An ominous darkness shrouded the streets of London as the coach lumbered toward the waterfront. Lara knew instinctively that the section of town through which they traveled was one of the worst London had to offer. Prostitutes openly plied their trade on street corners and footpads prowled for likely victims. Warehouses interspersed with disreputable saloons lined the litter-strewn streets, and the smell of rotting garbage mixed with tangy salt air assaulted Lara’s senses.

  “Where are you taking me?” Lara asked.

  “Where ye’ll be safe while we wait for Scorpion to show up.”

  “What makes you think he’ll show up? Maybe you’ve got the wrong man.”

  Crockett sent her a knowing grin. “He’ll show up.”

  The coach pulled into the yawning maw of a dark alley and rattled to a stop. Lara looked out the window at a blank wooden wall.

  “What is this place?”

  Crockett opened the door and stepped down. Then he grasped Lara’s arm and pulled her out of the coach. A rat scurried past; Lara shrieked in surprise. Bile rose in her throat; the stench was nearly unbearable.

  “Come along with ye,” Crockett said, all but dragging her down the alley.

  Lara feared they were going to murder her and leave her body for the rats. Then she saw Crockett push open a door she hadn’t noticed before and she breathed a little easier.

  He pulled her forward and sent her through the opening. “In ye go, wench.”

  Dorks, having found a lantern somewhere, pushed past them to light their way. The glow revealed an abandoned warehouse. The room was cavernous. The play of shadow and light against the filthy walls made it appear sinister and foreboding. Empty boxes and crates lay haphazardly about. The musty smell of mold and rotting wood nearly gagged her.

  “Keep moving,” Crockett said.

  He prodded her across the room to a closed door. Flinging it open, he shoved her inside. Lara stumbled and fell, catching herself with her hands to cushion the fall. She scrambled to her knees.

  “Ye’ll be safe enough here,” Crockett growled.

  “You’re going to leave me here?”

  “For the time being. I don’t know what the Jackal has planned for ye once he gets rid of Scorpion. I doubt he’ll let ye live. Ye know too much about his operation.”

  “Julian won’t walk into the Jackal’s trap. He’s too smart.”

  He laughed. “Tell that to the Jackal. I’m going back to sea soon. Smuggling is what I do best.” Still laughing, he headed out the door.

  “Wait! Don’t leave me in the dark.”

  Crockett considered her request, then spoke to Dorks. Dorks disappeared, returning moments later with another lantern. He set it down on an upturned crate.

  Lara’s voice rose on a note of panic. “When can I expect the Jackal?” She didn’t want to stay in this place. She didn’t want to lure Julian to his death. She had to escape.

  “He’ll arrive when he’s good and ready.” Dorks handed Crockett the sack of food Lara had rejected that morning and he set it next to the lantern. “Here’s something in case ye get hungry. Mayhap ’twill be more to yer liking when hunger gnaws at yer innards.”

  Lara swallowed hard against the panic rising in her chest as Crockett and Dorks exited and slammed the door behind them. The scrape of a wooden bar being lowered into place sent a bolt of fear through her. What if the Jackal didn’t come? Would this warehouse become her tomb? Her hands flew to her stomach. No! She wouldn’t accept death meekly. She’d live to give Julian his child.

  Lara was so exhausted she couldn’t think straight. The trip to London had been grueling. Gathering her reserves, she picked up the lantern and conducted a thorough search of the room. It appeared to have once been an office, for a rickety desk and broken chair still remained. Two wooden crates sat beneath a window that had been boarded up. More crates were scattered about the room.

  Lara sat down on one of the crates to think. The window was too high up for her to reach, even if she could knock out the boards nailed across it. She eyed the crates beneath it with speculation. She could reach the window if she stood on the crate, she reflected, but that still didn’t solve her problem. There seemed to be nothing available to use as a battering ram against the window.

  Tired, so very tired. Perhaps if she rested for a bit she’d be able to come up with an idea. Pushing the two crates together, she lay down and closed her eyes. Sleep came almost immediately.

  Lara awoke to daylight poking through the cracks of the boarded-up window and the terrible feeling that she was doomed to die here. She sat up, suddenly aware that she was hungry. Her gaze fell on the sack of food Crockett had left for her. With a grimace of distaste, she opened the sack and rummaged about for something that might agree with her stomach. She found two pieces of dark bread among the greasy fare and nibbled on one of them.

  The lantern had burned low, but enough light seeped through the cracks of the boarded window for Lara to see just what she was up against, and it didn’t look hopeful. There had to be something she could do, but what?

  Julian reached London a day behind Lara. He’d ridden like the very devil, stopping a few hours during the darkest part of night to sleep on the hard ground. Exhausted and haggard, Julian stopped first at the Stanhope residence.

  Jeevers opened the door to Julian’s insistent rapping and Julian barged inside, his expression grim.

  “Where’s Stanhope?”

  “Lord Mansfield, is something amiss? Lord Stanhope will be pleased to see you. Is Lady Lara with you?”

  “A great deal is amiss. I’m hoping Stanhope can clear up the matter. Is he home? I need to see him immediately.”

  A door opened off the foyer and Stanhope stepped out. “I’ll handle this, Jeevers, thank you. Come inside my study, Mansfield, I’m quite anxious to speak with you.”

  “And I with you,” Julian said harshly. “Where’s Lara?”

  Shock, then fear marched across Stanhope’s face. “Are you telling me my daughter isn’t with you? You’re the one who dragged her away from London without so much as a by-your-leave. I’ll see you in hell if Lara has come to harm because of you.”

  Julian’s probing gaze searched Stanhope’s face. “I was just going to say the same about you.”

  “Why would you say that? Lara is my daughter, I love her.”

  “Lara is my wife, and I love her.”

  The moment the words were spoken Julian realized he meant them. He loved Lara. Loved her as he’d never loved Diana, although he cared for Diana, although he had fully committed himself to being an excellent husband to her. But his passion for Lara was a powerfully compelling force within him. The kind that ate a man alive. He should know, he’d experienced it often enough. Lara was the air he breathed and the water he
drank. She was imbued with life and spirit and a wildness that made his heart sing. He cursed himself for not recognizing love when he was first smitten.

  “What happened to Lara? Why isn’t she with you? You say she is your wife? ’Tis a good thing, else I would have demanded that you marry my daughter after you ruined her.”

  “Lara and I were married in Scotland, at my brother’s estate. She was kidnapped ten days ago.”

  Stanhope turned pale as death. “Kidnapped? Why? Who would do such a thing?”

  “Have you no idea?” Julian queried.

  “Me? What in God’s name are you talking about? Why would I know anything about my daughter’s kidnapping? Only a monster would do such a thing.”

  Julian found it difficult to believe Stanhope had anything to do with Lara’s kidnapping. But there was only one way to learn the truth.

  “How deeply involved are you with the smugglers operating off the English coast?” he asked bluntly.

  “What! Are you mad? I know nothing about smugglers. I would never consort with men of that ilk. I have all the money I need, why would I resort to smuggling?”

  Julian was inclined to believe him, but not entirely. “What about Lord Tolliver? You and Tolliver seem especially close lately. He’s been a frequent visitor in your home.”

  Stanhope appeared perplexed. “What does Tolliver have to do with any of this? We’re pushing a bill through Parliament.”

  “Have you ever heard of Scorpion?”

  “Are you referring to Scorpion the traitor? Tolliver suspects that Scorpion is the brains behind a smuggling ring. He asked me to keep my ears and eyes open.” He paused, as if comprehension finally dawned. “Are you insinuating that Tolliver is Scorpion?”

  “No, of course not. I know for a fact that Tolliver is not Scorpion.”

  Stanhope’s eyes narrowed. “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I’m Scorpion. I’ve been an agent for the crown for some time, working under Lord Randall. My current assignment is to bring the Jackal to justice. Regrettably, Lara got caught in the middle.”

  “You’d better explain yourself, Mansfield,” Stanhope demanded harshly.

  Julian quickly explained how he and Lara had met.

  “So my daughter saved your life and married you in a Gypsy ritual,” Stanhope mused after Julian finished speaking. “But you didn’t consider it legal. I’ll have something to say about your appalling conduct once this is over, but right now my daughter’s life is in danger and that’s my primary concern. Tell me why Lara was kidnapped and by whom.”

  “The reason I fled London with Lara was that the Jackal noted my interest in your daughter and intended to use her to get to me. You see, the bastard had figured out my identity and set out to kill me before I had enough evidence to put a noose around his neck. Lara and I hid for a time with Pietro and Ramona, then fled to Scotland when one of their people betrayed us.”

  “Are you telling me that Lara’s life is in danger because someone wants you dead?”

  “Exactly. That someone is the Jackal.”

  “And you suspect Tolliver of being the Jackal?”

  “What do you know of Tolliver’s finances?”

  “A few years ago Tolliver’s pockets were empty. Somehow he recouped his losses and of late seems well heeled.”

  Julian digested that piece of information, then asked, “What about Dunbar, Lord Crawford’s second son?”

  “Don’t know anything about Dunbar. Seems a likable chap. Is he a suspect?”

  “Both he and Tolliver have access to privileged information.”

  “I’ll do anything to help. My daughter means more to me than all my wealth. I’ll meet any ransom the Jackal demands.”

  “ ’Tis not a matter of ransom,” Julian said. “They want me, not money.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going home to wait for a message from the Jackal. I’ll do whatever it takes to free Lara.”

  “Even at the risk of your own life?”

  Julian smiled grimly. “Even at the risk of my own life, but I hope it won’t come to that.”

  “Are you going to inform Randall of the latest development? What can I do to help?”

  “Randall would insist upon dispatching dragoons to aid me. I fear they would anger the Jackal and further endanger Lara’s life. Remain here, where I can reach you. I’ll send word around when I hear from the Jackal. I suspect he’ll demand that I meet him in some disreputable section of town, unarmed and alone.”

  “I want to come with you.”

  “No. I need you here. I’ll let you know where I’m to meet the Jackal and you can take the information to Randall.” His face hardened. “The Jackal wants me and he shall have me.”

  “Keep my daughter safe, Mansfield,” Stanhope pleaded. “I never knew my daughter the first thirteen years of her life. She’s been a blessing to me these last years. I can’t lose her now.”

  “Neither can I,” Julian muttered through clenched teeth.

  Chapter 18

  Julian prowled his study, waiting for the message that would direct him to Lara. He’d already alerted his staff, and Farthingale was stationed at the door, waiting for further developments. The Jackal had probably known the very minute he’d returned to London, and that he’d called on Lord Stanhope.

  Finding the man responsible for Diana’s death was no longer a priority in Julian’s life. He still wanted the bastard punished, but not at the expense of a loved one. At long last he was able to put Diana’s death behind him, and it felt damn good. He was free now to give his heart to Lara without reservations. But was he too late?

  Farthingale called to him from the other side of the door and Julian grew instantly alert. He reached the door in two long strides and flung it open.

  “The message you’ve been waiting for has arrived, Lord Mansfield,” Farthingale said, handing a folded sheet of paper to Julian.

  “Did you detain the messenger?”

  “Aye, my lord. One of the footmen has him under restraint. But I fear he’s not what you’re expecting.”

  “Bring him in,” Julian bit out.

  Farthingale stood aside as a brawny footman dragged forth a scrawny street lad no more than a dozen years old. He was small, wiry, belligerent, and incredibly filthy.

  “I ain’t done nothin’!” the lad whined as he tried to shake himself free of his captor. “Some bloke give me a shilling to deliver a note to Lord Mansfield. That ain’t no crime.”

  “I’m Lord Mansfield,” Julian said. “I’m not going to hurt you, lad. Can you describe the person who gave you the note?”

  “I never seen his face. I swear. He stayed inside his fancy coach the whole time. ’Twas his driver what give me the note and shilling. That’s a lot of blunt. I ain’t gonna give it up.”

  “I’m not asking for your blunt, lad. Is that all you can tell me? What about the coach? Did it bear a coat of arms?”

  “If ye mean fancy markings on the side, no, it were plain black. Can I go now?”

  “Let him go, Jenkins,” Julian told the footman. “The lad knows nothing of value. See that he’s fed before you turn him loose.”

  “Thank ye, milord, thank ye,” the lad said, bobbing his head respectfully.

  Jenkins hauled the boy away. “Is there anything I can do, my lord?” Farthingale asked.

  “Pray, Farthingale. Please wait outside the door. As soon as I read the note, I’ll need to send a message around to Lord Stanhope. You’re to give it to a footman to deliver with all due haste.”

  “I understand, my lord,” Farthingale said as he let himself out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  Julian stared at the note, almost fearing to read it. Though he knew he was being fanciful, he imagined he could feel evil vibes emanating from the sheet of paper. His hands shook as he unfolded the note. The words leaped out at him. It was no more or no less than he expected.

  Short and to the point, the message stated t
hat if he wanted his Gypsy wench to remain alive and healthy, he should come to the abandoned textile warehouse on the waterfront at ten that night. There was no signature but none was needed. It was from the Jackal.

  Julian spit out a curse. There was nothing in the note to indicate that Lara hadn’t been harmed. Shaking with anger, he crumbled the paper in his fist and tossed it into the hearth.

  Julian knew exactly where to find the abandoned textile warehouse. It was in the seediest part of town, a place so dangerous that few ventured there at night except for hardened thugs and cutthroats. The thought of Lara in such a place sent tremors of panic racing down his spine. Sweet, innocent Lara. She knew nothing about the dregs of London society, and the experience could traumatize her.

  He looked at his watch. Nine o’clock. He had one hour to prepare for the encounter that might very well result in his death. Before he left, he dashed out a note to Stanhope and gave it to Farthingale to send on its way. If all went well, Randall would arrive with dragoons in time to help, but not too soon to ruin his rescue attempt.

  Lara had no conception of time. She knew it had begun to rain for she heard it splattering against the side of the building. When hunger struck again, she nibbled on the remaining hunk of stale bread from the sack and tossed the rest into a corner for the rats. If they had something to gnaw on they might ignore her.

  She had examined the boarded up window countless times throughout the day. She’d even stood on an upended crate to study it more closely. Disappointment was a bitter pill to swallow. What she needed was a crowbar of sorts, but she had nothing.

  She resumed her pacing, ignoring her growling stomach and the nausea plaguing her. Suddenly her gaze fell on the desk. Long spindly legs held it upright, but it was tilted at a precarious angle, as if a good wind would knock it over. Or a good push. Mustering her strength, Lara shoved the desk, hard. It fell over and shattered.

  Crowing in delight, Lara pulled one of the legs free. Regrettably, it didn’t look sturdy enough to do the job for which she intended it, but Lara wasn’t about to give up that easily.

  Holding the leg like a bat, she swung with all her might at the boards barring the window. They didn’t even budge. She tried again. And yet again. Her arms ached clear up to her shoulders, but what happened next sent her spirits plummeting. The desk leg shattered.