by Diana Ballew
“Ah. You’ve not much experience with babies, I see.” He breathed on her neck.
She flinched.
“Allow me.” He plucked Nathan up and lifted him toward the ceiling. “I say, he shall make a fine heir. Don’t you agree, Lady Kimpton?”
Her gaze went to Irene, still soundly sleeping where he’d been sitting.
“Once again, you’ve lost me, Lord Maudsley,” she said faintly. Surely, he did not intend to toss him in the air. “Please be careful, my lord. H-he is just a newborn.”
A wicked grin tipped his lips. “Fear not, Lady Kimpton. Sit and I shall hand him to you.” She lowered herself to the chair, partly because her legs refused to support her any longer. “I’m surprised Irene didn’t show you the basics. She was quite engaging to watch with Cecilia. Had a mother’s instinct, even at the age of four.” He chuckled, settling Nathan in her arms.
“She tried. Irene, I mean.” Her voice shook, appallingly.
“Your nerves are quite frayed, my dear. What with not knowing why or where you are, and poor—what is his name?”
“Nathaniel,” she whispered.
“Ah, Nathaniel.” He seemed to savor the moment. “He is tired, hungry, and likely in need of a nappy change.” Maudsley sauntered back to his chair, lifted Irene, cradling her against his chest once again. His eyes took on a faraway gleam. “I had great plans for her. I shall miss her. She’ll turn into a lovely young woman.”
A cold knot of fear formed in Lorelei’s stomach, her fingers turned to ice. She rocked Nathan, keeping her eyes fastened on Irene. Her sleep remained peaceful and undisturbed, thank heavens. “She will be fine with me, my lord.” Her voice cracked with terror.
Something dire shifted and Maudsley’s manner turned from almost jovial to hard and malevolent. “Her mother should never have lied to me regarding her parentage.”
Confusion, then shock, jolted through her. Was he saying that Irene was not his? “That’s preposterous. Ginny—Ginny would never—”
The menacing hatred altered back to the carefree parley from moments before. “Now that I’ve discovered I have another daughter, I shall legally claim her. I’ll be petitioning Parliament to recognize the babe, there” —he pointed to the child she held— “as my heir. Quite simple, really.”
Lorelei shook her head. The whole scheme was ludicrous, the rules set, or so she believed. “Entailed property is inherited by direct descendants, Lord Maudsley. Male heir to male heir, the Crown is most specific.” Nathan’s whimpers were small but painful to endure. She smoothed a trembling hand over his head, moved her thumb to his mouth. He suckled greedily. “How is that possible?”
“There are no male heirs. No long-lost nephews, no flagellant cousins, waiting to kill me off to take over my holdings. Just this one male child.” Hatred glittered from his eyes. “There is no need to worry about Corinne. I have promised her to Welton.”
“Welton!” Her sharpness startled Nathan. He sucked in a deep breath and let loose a wail that could be heard clear to Edinburgh.
He smiled. “Brandy will help, my dear.”
“H-he’s a newborn,” she whispered.
He picked up his tumbler and brought it to her. “Suit yourself. It might be awhile before I return.”
“This doesn’t seem wise.” She looked at the dark gold liquid, then back at him. “Are you certain it won’t hurt him?”
“Just a little to calm him. Surely you don’t believe I mean the child harm.”
No, that much she believed. He wanted the baby. She dipped her finger in the glass and put it to Nathan’s lips. He suckled furiously and she gave him another taste. Blessed quiet ensued.
“There, you see?” He smiled. “Now, I must leave for a bit. But rest assured, I shall return.” He moved to a bookcase and reached above, still cradling Irene.
Her stomach dropped, fear reasserting itself. “Irene should stay with me.”
“I fear there are other plans for my precious Irene.” He spoke softly, his gaze on the child in his arms.
An odd sort of revulsion convulsed through her. “What sort of plans?” Her voice was a broken whisper.
“I fear the cost is her innocence.”
Maudsley’s insanity struck her with the force of a pugilist’s fist to her abdomen. “My lord, please think about what you are saying—what you are about to do.” She spoke quickly, anything to dissuade him. But he slipped a key in a lock and turned it. The door swung back without a sound, or perhaps it was the roaring in her ears that deafened her.
“I won’t be long, my dear. There is still Corinne’s arrival to manage.”
“Please,” she begged. “Won’t you leave Irene with me?”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, my dear. Her future is already paid for.” The door shut on Lorelei’s cry and Nathan’s renewed and vigorous wails with a solid thud.
Too terrified to move, Lorelei sat for a long time. Fear held her in its steel-trapped jaws. She didn’t know how to hold a baby. Her arms trembled too violently to raise him from her lap. Horrified images of dropping him immobilized her. After a moment, she clutched his curled fingers in one hand. Ice cold.
She couldn’t just sit here and wait for that wastrel to return. She gazed down at the tiny infant. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to him. A tear fell on his chin. She stroked it away. “I-I don’t know what to do.” She closed her eyes, forced herself to picture Irene’s stern instructions.
Hold him firmly, Lady Kimpton. You won’t hurt him. See? He likes you. Look. Watch how I hold him to my shoulder. He’s most sturdy. Now you try it.
Lorelei leaned forward and lifted the arm Nathan rested on, supporting his head. Then wrapping her other arm about his body, she raised herself. She still shook and he still screamed, but she’d done it. She was holding him. Truly holding him.
Trusting herself to stand with him was another matter. She shifted to the furthest part of the chair, and as carefully as she could manage, lowered him on the cushion. The arm of the chair would keep him secure but would not keep him from crying. Hating herself completely, she dipped her finger in the whiskey and put it to his lips. After two or three more times, he quieted.
It didn’t take a thorough search to confirm that Lorelei, Irene, Miss Elvin, and the baby were not in residence, though Thorne took no chances, and with the servants’ help every room was checked. Maudsley was the only logical conclusion. Someone knocked on the door, and Thorne dashed for the foyer. Oswald, true to form, beat him to it.
“Thank God. I was just on my way to find you,” Thorne said.
Brock stood awkwardly, one arm gripping Welton by the collar. “Yes, well, I was accosted by a mongrel. Apparently, he had a missive for me. The duel is off.”
“What the hell does that mean? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Lorelei and Lady Irene are unaccounted for.”
Brock pushed Welton ahead of him through the door.
“Unaccounted for?” Brockway repeated.
“We’ll take this into my study.” Thorne shoved Welton into his inner sanctum. “Start talking, Welton.”
“I received a note, just as Lord Brockway said.”
“Where’s the note?”
Brock held out a crumpled piece of vellum. “There’s no seal or title identifying the sender. I don’t know who sent it. Or what it means.”
Thorne tuned to Welton. “Why send it to you, of all people?”
“I-I was to be Lord Maudsley’s second.”
Brock snorted.
Thorne read it aloud. “Maudsley concedes. There is no meeting at Hampstead Heath. How cryptic. And uncharacteristic.” His jaw tightened, and he pierced Welton with a hard glare. “My wife and Lady Irene seem to be missing, George. Have you any notion of where they might be?”
“N-no,” he stuttered.
“Cecilia?” Brock’s tone was marbled stone.
“She was drugged. The whole household was doused with an opiate.”
“Drugged?” Welton’s voice raised
an octave.
The man was simple. Thorne was certain he didn’t know a thing. But why had Maudsley selected him to stand as his second? “Who is your intended, George?”
“Maudsley’s daughter.”
“Ladies Irene and Cecilia are four and seven,” Thorne said.
“Of course they are,” Welton said, scandalized. “Of all the appalling insinuations.”
“Then who?” Brock demanded.
“There was another. A daughter. From his first wife, Lady Hannah. I-I don’t know her n-name. Lord Maudsley is forcing me to marry her. She had a-a baby. He said the child would be his heir because he hadn’t sired a son.”
“Bloody hell.”
“I told him Harlowe done went and got that whore Rowena Hollerfield’s sister with child. He said he didn’t believe the chit was Miss Hollerfield’s sister.” Welton looked down at the floor. “The whole conversation is a bit muddled. I was soused at the time it all happened.”
The door crashed back. “She’s not a whore. And if you refer to her as such again, I shall kill you.” The soft words filled the room.
Corinne Hollerfield stood in the arched door as tall and proud as the goddess Diana, but rather than boasting an arrow in her clutched hand, she gripped Lady Cecilia’s tiny one.
Cecilia rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “Where’s Nathan and Irene?”
“Who are you?” Welton asked.
“Corinne Hollerfield. Said whore’s sister.”
Welton’s face took on the flushed hue of a roaring fire. Thorne was almost amused.
Corinne turned to Thorne. “Lord Kimpton, the others are awake. Cecilia is demanding Lady Kimpton—”
“And Irene and Nathan,” Cecilia said.
Thorne swept Cecilia up. “They are out. Just for the moment.”
“Where?” she demanded.
He set her on her feet. “Miss Hollerfield, perhaps you and Lady Cecilia would give us a moment with Lord Welton.”
“Why don’t you want to tell us where my sister is?” Cecilia demanded. “She thinks she’s so grown up because she got to pour the tea. Well, next time I wish to pour the tea.”
Miss Hollerfield grabbed Cecilia’s hand. “Come, Lady Cecilia. We shall wait in the foyer.” She shot Thorne a harsh glare. “We shall find Irene.”
“And Nathan.”
“And Nathan,” she said, pulling the door, but before it latched, Bethie stood in the arch.
Thorne looked at her, thoughtfully.
“That’s Lord Maudsley’s daughter?” Welton said, clearly stunned.
“Of course it is. But Lady Cecilia is only four, or ... ” Brock frowned.
“Not the child,” Welton said. “The other one. The one who bore Harlowe’s bastard.”
“That’s enough, Welton.” Thorne’s fist shot out, catching the simpleton by the jaw. He waved Bethie in. “Please sit, Bethie. I have need of you after I deal with Welton.”
With a sharp nod she stood off to the side at attention.
“Let’s get back to the note, Welton. Shall we?”
“I don’t know. I was on my way to Maudsley’s, at his request mind, when one of those vagrant scamps stopped and asked my name.”
Thorne strode behind the desk and jerked out the bottom drawer. He lifted the ornate box that held his dueling pistols. The ones he kept oiled and ready at a moment’s notice. That moment appeared to have arrived. “Then that is where we shall start. Maudsley’s.”
Edward slid the wine rack into place. It was a handy piece of furniture with wheels that concealed his own private den. He darted up the servants’ stairwell to the third floor to the nursery. He lay Irene on her pristine-made bed, took the folded coverlet from the foot, and draped it over her small body. He would be sorry to lose her.
It was unfortunate turn of events. He’d looked forward to initiating Irene into womanhood for her thirteenth birthday. It was to have been a celebratory occasion.
He lightly kissed her forehead and made his way to the library.
“Rolf,” he barked. “Where’s Welton? He should have been here by now.”
Rolf waited at the foot of the stairs. Edward’s henchmen were prime choice. The man towered over any of his acquaintances. “Not here yet, sir.”
“Find him. I’ll be at my desk. Time is short.”
Rolf bowed and vanished from his sight. Another brilliant trait Edward appreciated. Silence. Edward strode to the library. A hearty fire crackled, and burning candles gave off a subtle glow.
“Maudsley, my man. I’ve waited hours for that bestial lout to vacate.” Griston stepped in the room. “Where on earth did you dig him up?”
Edward grinned, eyes on his desk. “He’d have shown you in. I’m waiting on Welton. The man could hardly be more stupid.” Silence followed his remark, and Edward glanced up. Griston’s arms were laden down. The young girl he carried had tangled, thick red locks. “I see you found Sarah.” He frowned. “Why’d you bring her here? What’s wrong with her?”
Griston strolled to the settee and dropped her. “She’s dead.”
“Dead!” He rose and rounded the desk. That was deuced inconvenient.
“Delectable enough, but a bit old for my tastes, and much too used.” Griston shrugged. “I’m here to be paid.”
Maudsley tore his thoughts from the task of disposing of Sarah’s body and turned his eyes on Griston. “You have the documents?”
Griston reached inside his waistcoat and pulled out a tri-folded stack of documents, then pitched them on the desk.
Edward went back around and sat. He snatched up the papers and flipped through them. He read through the first page. Pleased with its officiousness, he quickly thumbed through the rest. He leaned back and let out a satisfied sigh. “Third floor, fourth door on the right. She’s fast asleep. That should make her initiation into womanhood easier to bear.” A pang of conscience pierced him. “Treat her gently, Griston. She’s nothing like Sarah.”
A short burst of laughter echoed. “I’m surprised at you, Edward. You’ve missed the entire point of taking a young untried body.” He pulled out a pistol.
“What the hell.” Edward stood quickly, sending his chair flailing against the wall.
“Come, Edward, you can’t really believe Parliament would grant your long-lost daughter’s son an earldom, do you? Your previous countess bore two sons. The babe’s a bastard at that. I’m doing you a favor, besides. Nothing could save you from ruin with George Welton as a son-in-law. As you’ve succinctly pointed out, the man’s an idiot.” The blast rang in his ears.
Goddamn, if the bastard hadn’t actually pulled the trigger. Edward was strangely awed his thought was so coherent. The power of the shot felled him to his knees. He looked down. Blood gushed but, oddly, he felt nothing. Why couldn’t he feel anything? But as quickly as the question formed, a burning sensation seared his gut. A branding, intense pain that that choked him of air. “Why?” he demanded, breathless.
Griston moved to the desk and calmly refolded and pocketed the papers. “Irene is a lovely young woman, Edward. I don’t think you could ever appreciate her as well as I. I certainly can’t have it circulating about that I prefer them her age. Lady Maudsley will be in need of consoling. With you out of the way, I may even bring Irene home after a year or so and take up with her younger sister. Lady Maudsley is young enough to bear many, many girls for me.”
Edward’s laugh was more a gasp for air. “You lying with a woman of my wife’s age.”
“There are ways around that issue. I’m surprised at you, Edward.”
He struggled to remain conscious. “You ... you won’t get away with this.”
“Ah. You speak of that henchman you employ, or rather—employed—” he chuckled. “Rolf? A shame he shot you in a fit of ire at his ill-treatment.”
Edward’s lungs tightened, squeezing the life from his body. Rapid intakes of air were short and agonizingly painful. Like a knife twisted in his chest. He tried to raise his hand to staunch the bl
ood flow on his abdomen, but his limbs were numb. He fought to make sense of Griston’s words.
“—your little Sarah, such a veritable she-cat. She fought every step of the way, Edward. Once in a great while the fight is stimulating; as a rule, however, I prefer them fearful, docile, virgi ... ”
Edward’s battle was lost as the words faded into oblivion.
Chapter 24
“Thorne, where are you?” She’d never realized before now how much she truly depended on her husband. Not just for the livelihood basics of food, shelter, and such. Now she realized how much he’d protected her from life’s darker side.
No untoward noises reached her from beyond the door. Nathan’s cries had quieted. and it took a moment for the silence to soak in. She gazed down at him, desperately wishing he were her own, but equally thankful he belonged to Brandon. She tried shoving thoughts of Irene to the back of her mind, avoiding the nefarious plans that blackguard had for that incredible child. That beautiful, beautiful girl. Blinking back tears, she rose, then leaned over Nathan.
“I must find our way out of this dungeon,” she said softly.
His eyes remained closed, and his tiny mouth smacked hungrily. He’d worn himself out.
With the silence, Lorelei was able to pick out vague household noises. Muffled footsteps, stairs creaking, a door closing. Would the housekeeper assist her? Provided there was a housekeeper.
She studied the chamber about her. There were no windows; an interior room then, two possibly. Lorelei moved to the one closed door and peered in. Too dark. She grabbed the candle from the table and pushed back the door. An office of sorts. A desk, a cabinet full of books, stacked papers.
An ounce of guilt plagued her as she rummaged through a pile, but remembering Irene’s peril, she shoved out any further conscience.
There was nothing with Irene’s name, but that didn’t lessen Lorelei’s fear. She flipped through the papers. And stopped. Harlowe. Her heart pounded furiously. What could Maudsley have to do with Brandon? She read through quickly. I’m pleased to inform you Lord Harlowe is no longer an issue. The words blurred her vision. With shaking knees, she sank into the desk chair and flipped the paper over. There was no recipient listed, or signature indicating who’d penned the note.