An Inconvenient Duke

by Anna Harrington

  When Alice returned with a small travel bag stuffed so full that it could barely close, Dani gave her the note. “The Golden Bell. Take one of the footmen with you. Go!”

  Then Dani wrote out a second message, this one to Marcus when he finally came to collect her, explaining what had happened and where she’d gone. Only a brief delay, she assured him, not more than an hour to wait for Jenkins or one of the other men to arrive. Certainly nothing as dramatic as Beatrice and Mrs. Slater were making their situation out to be. She believed that men from the brothel had given chase, although most likely giving up after only a few minutes. But Dani couldn’t abandon Beatrice. She promised to arrive at Pearce’s town house as soon as she could, and then they would continue the night exactly as planned.

  “I’m ready,” she said as she came down the stairs, the bag in one hand and the note in the other. “Let’s depart.”

  With a relieved nod, Mrs. Slater hurried out of the house to the waiting carriage.

  Dani paused as she closed the door behind her to leave the note on the brass knocker. Then she ran to join Mrs. Slater in the carriage.

  * * *

  Marcus walked up to stand beside Clayton in the double doorway of Pearce’s dining room. The woman whom Hartsham had arranged for him sat on a dining chair pushed into the corner of the room while Pearce guarded her. Guarding her being a very loose definition of what the man was actually doing as he leaned against the fireplace with a glass of port in one hand and gestured enthusiastically at her with the other as he described what Spain and France had been like during the wars, peppering his portrayals with several tales of his own personal misadventures. Including the one about the flamenco dancer who swung through his bedroom window on the end of a rope.

  The woman stared at him, wide-eyed and saying nothing, just as she’d done since he’d started his tales nearly half an hour ago.

  But of course she did. She obviously thought he was a bedlamite.

  “Has he gotten to the Battle of Toulouse yet?” Marcus drawled in a lowered voice so he wouldn’t be overheard.

  Across the room, Pearce laughed and gestured with the glass. “One newspaper said that horses were in blood up to their forelocks. Their forelocks! As if they were swimming in it!”

  “Yes,” Clayton answered dryly, his face impassive. “For the last five minutes, in fact.” He slid a sideways gaze at Marcus. “We should probably question her soon before we’re accused of torturing her by setting Pearce on her like this.”

  “Not until Danielle arrives.” He took another uneasy glance over his shoulder toward the front door. Where the devil was she?

  The woman’s late arrival to the town house had not only put going after Danielle behind schedule, but it had also raised Marcus’s wariness about the night’s plans to the point that he’d been forced to send Merritt in his place instead of fetching her himself so he could be here at the town house in case anything went wrong. Danielle was in very capable hands with Merritt, he knew that, perhaps even more so than in his own if he were honest about it, given Merritt’s fighting skills. Yet he wanted her by his side, where he knew she would be safe.

  “Is that a good idea,” Clayton countered quietly, “having a society lady here while we ask that woman about the kinds of things that Hartsham is using for blackmail? Will Miss Williams be able to tolerate it?”

  “Without so much as a blink.” Marcus smiled in private amusement. Clayton didn’t know the kind of woman Danielle was, a society lady who had more spine and resilience than half the men in His Majesty’s service. “Her presence here will make the woman more comfortable when we question her and hopefully make her willing to tell us more. She can reassure her that she’ll be set free as soon as we have the information we need and that Hartsham won’t be able to harm her.”

  After the way the woman arrived—late and scurrying up to the town house alone from a rented carriage, only to be met not by one man as expected when she walked into the drawing room but four—reassurances were definitely in order. But they had time. All night, in fact. Hartsham had encouraged him to feel free to do anything he wanted with the woman, so no suspicions would be raised if she made no attempt to meet up with Hartsham afterward to tell him what Marcus had done with her. By dawn, she would be so thoroughly hidden that no one would be able to find her.

  But Marcus wanted this over as soon as possible so that Clayton’s men could greet the earl when he rose for breakfast, search his properties before he knew to destroy or hide any evidence there, and place him under house arrest until a formal warrant could be issued. The trial and execution might yet take months, but with the earl closely under guard and his every move watched, he wouldn’t be able to harm Marcus’s family again. A family that now included Danielle.

  The front door opened, and Merritt strode inside and down the hall toward them. Alone.

  Marcus demanded, “Where’s Danielle?”

  “Gone.” He grimly held out a folded note. “She left this for you. I took the liberty of reading it.”

  Marcus opened the note and scanned it. His blood turned to ice as he read what she’d done.

  “Two of the men guarding the house followed after her, and one stayed behind in case she returns,” Merritt informed him. “They won’t let her out of their sight.”

  The words swam on the page before Marcus’s eyes as his gut squeezed so tightly that he couldn’t breathe. “She’s been tricked,” he rasped out. Christ. “It’s a trap!” He threw the note at Clayton and charged toward the front door.

  Pearce appeared in the dining room doorway. “What’s wrong?”

  “We’ve been found out. Somehow Hartsham learned what we’d planned, and he’s lured Danielle away.” Marcus jerked on his coat and gloves. “I’m going after her.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Pearce strode over to the entry hall table, yanked open the drawer, and withdrew a brace of pistols. “Once a soldier—”

  “Always a soldier,” Merritt finished, reaching into his coat to hand one of his own pistols to Marcus, then slapped him on the back and headed with Pearce toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  Gratitude tightened Marcus’s throat. But there was no time for emotion. He ordered Clayton, “Stay here and question that woman.” The glance he sent into the dining room was murderous. “And God help her if she lies.” Or if one hair on Dani’s head was harmed.

  The three men raced outside into the rainy, black night.

  From the doorway, Clayton stared after them for a moment, then signaled to one of his men standing watch outside the town house to come inside and guard the door. Then he walked into the dining room, pulled up a chair facing the woman, and sat down, noting how her eyes flickered with fear.

  He gave her his best charming smile to put her at ease. “Good evening, ma’am. We haven’t been introduced yet. I’m Clayton Elliott, Undersecretary for the Home Office.” He offered her a cup of tea from the tray sitting on the table. “Shall we talk?”

  Twenty-Six

  “We don’t have time for this,” Mrs. Slater grumbled as Dani called up to the driver to stop so they could change carriages a second time.

  “I insist. Beatrice will be fine for the extra time this will take us.” She gathered up her skirts. “But none of us will be if the men from the brothel somehow managed to track you to my house and are following after us now.”

  She stepped down from the carriage. Tossing a coin to the driver, she took Mrs. Slater’s arm and led the woman across the busy Covent Garden street where she waved down a hackney headed in the opposite direction. Anyone who might be following them in a carriage wouldn’t be able to turn around on the crowded street and chase after them. “St Paul’s Cathedral,” she ordered the new driver and ducked as she entered the small compartment. “Hurry, please.”

  “But we’re not going that far,” Mrs. Slater challenged, her voice riddled through with g
rowing exasperation as the horse started forward before they were properly seated.

  “No, we’re not.” Dani watched out the window as the lights of the theatre district slipped past as the carriage rolled east. “We’ll stop before then and walk to the warehouse, doubling back two or three streets to make certain we don’t lead anyone to Beatrice and the girl.”

  “You’ve done this before, then.”

  “Countless times,” she whispered into the darkness beyond the window. But for once when she thought about the women, the crushing burden didn’t weigh down on her shoulders. The end was in sight, even if she had to travel through the dark night—and change carriages three times—to arrive there. “We’ll put the girl under a hooded cloak and take her to the Golden Bell, where hopefully one of the men will be waiting to take her out of London.”

  “What men?” Panic edged Mrs. Slater’s voice.

  Dani glanced at her. Even through the shadows, Dani thought she saw Mrs. Slater grow pale. “The men I contacted about the girl.”

  Then the woman’s face turned absolutely white. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “It’s all right. I’ve worked with them before. They can be trusted, for the right price.” At least she prayed that they could. The memory of how Kimball had attacked her in that alley teased uneasily at the back of her mind. “We’ll hand the girl over to them to smuggle out of London and back to Manchester and her family. Then you and Beatrice won’t be caught up in this any longer.”

  Mrs. Slater turned her face toward the opposite window, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. “I hope so.”

  So did Dani.

  When the carriage drew near to Fleet Street, she opened the window, popped out her head, and glanced down the street—empty. No one had followed them. She banged her fist on the wall of the carriage and called out to the driver to stop.

  “Quickly,” she ordered Mrs. Slater, nearly pushing the woman outside. She handed the full fare to the driver and ordered, “Drive on to St Paul’s.”

  Then she grabbed her arm and pulled her into a nearby alley. No one was in the dark street to see them leave the carriage and disappear into the darkness, and anyone who might have been chasing farther behind would have followed the hackney onward to the east. They wouldn’t realize they’d been tricked until the carriage reached St Paul’s.

  Dani led Mrs. Slater from one alley to another, their path further concealed by the thickening fog and drizzling rain. Within minutes, they were hidden in the rabbit warren of alleyways and streets snaking along the Thames. She motioned for Mrs. Slater to stay silent as they doubled back along the Strand to once more head toward Fleet Street. In the past four years, Dani had put down a wild goose chase through London so many times that doing so had become second nature to her. But it was also a skill she didn’t intend to call upon again after tonight.

  Finally, she pointed down one last dark alley. Mrs. Slater hesitated, then followed warily between the brick buildings to an old abandoned warehouse, the one she’d used often for Nightingale.

  “Here?” Dani whispered to make certain Beatrice hadn’t taken refuge in the wrong building.

  Lingering in the shadows, Mrs. Slater nodded.

  Dani pushed open the door, the lock long ago broken and never fixed by the owners who had abandoned the warehouse. The ground floor room was dark, but she’d been here enough times to know her way to the lantern hanging on a peg from the center pillar, the one she’d always kept operational and filled with oil for just such an emergency. She struck a light from the little tinderbox she’d stashed into her pelisse pocket and brought the lamp to life.

  The dim light lit the large room just enough for Dani to see—empty. There was no sign of Beatrice and the girl. Dread squeezed her chest.

  “Beatrice?” Her voice echoed through the dusty building as loud as cannon fire to her ears. Please God, let them be here in hiding! “Where are you?” She paused to listen. “Are you here?”

  Heavy steps scuffed over the floor above, and she jumped, startled, her heart flying into her throat. Struggling to keep herself calm, she turned toward the set of narrow wooden stairs in the corner that led to the floors above. She lifted the lamp higher to cast as much light as possible, and from the black shadows, a man’s form emerged as he slowly came down the stairs. Slender and slight of build, not at all the type of broad-shouldered and beefy man a brothel would hire as security—

  Oh thank God… “Jenkins.” She eased out a relieved sigh and smiled. “I knew you’d come as planned. I’ve always been able to count on you.”

  “Have you?”

  The deep voice slithered down her spine. He stepped into the halo of lamplight and revealed his face—

  “Lord Hartsham,” she whispered fearfully. “What are you doing here?”

  He moved down the final two steps to the stone floor. “Waiting for you.”

  All the tiny muscles in her belly tightened sickeningly in instant terror—

  She’d been led into a trap.

  She wheeled furiously on Mrs. Slater, who stood just inside the doorway where Dani had left her. The woman hadn’t bothered to step farther into the warehouse, knowing all along that Beatrice and the girl weren’t here.

  “You,” Dani forced out past the knot of betrayal squeezing in her throat. Everything fell sickeningly into place…why Mrs. Slater had told Beatrice about the girl, knowing that the countess would initially approach Dani for help with the vanishing, why Dani hadn’t given a second thought to rushing off to help…because all the pieces fit. “You deceived me. You brought me here. To him!”

  “I am sorry,” Mrs. Slater said remorsefully, not leaving her post by the door. But at least she had the decency to wring her hands in guilt. “I regret that you were caught up in all this. But I cannot let you ruin my husband’s future.”

  “Your husband?” Dani rasped out, barely able to breathe. “What does he have to do with this?”

  “You interfered! You put his business ventures in jeopardy, all that he and I had risked so much to establish.” The woman’s voice lowered into an accusing hiss. “If you would have just left well enough alone—but you wouldn’t, would you? You let Hampton seduce you into believing that his sister was murdered, that you needed to find her killer.” Her eyes glistened in the lamplight, but Dani knew it wasn’t from remorse at leading her here to the enemy. It was the same dark gleam that had glinted in all the women Nightingale had rescued when they spoke of their abusers—hatred. “I knew that night at Vauxhall that you had to be dealt with.”

  A shiver of realization pulsed icily through her. “It was you that night who was keeping watch so closely, who knew exactly where Marcus and I were…” Closely enough to realize the exact moment when Dani discovered the truth about who had murdered Elise. Bile of betrayal rose in her throat. “It was you who signaled for us to be shot at.”

  “She did as I ordered,” Hartsham answered for Mrs. Slater as he stalked slowly toward her.

  Dani stepped back in fear, still holding the lantern up high, as if the light alone could protect her.

  “Just as she was the one who hired that man from among her husband’s dockworkers to break into Charlton Place, to make certain no evidence of Venus’s Folly was left among Elise Donnelly’s things. Just as she did in bringing you here tonight.”

  “Where’s Beatrice?” Dani asked, worried about the countess. She didn’t put it past Hartsham to have beaten information from her.

  “She should be arriving home at any minute. She’s spent the evening waiting for Jenkins to deliver the girl to her at an inn in Southwark after he retrieved her from the brothel, then pass the child along to another smuggler to take her out of London. Exactly as planned. She has no idea that any of this is happening.”

  Dani slowly retreated. With her right hand still tightly gripping the handle of the glass oil lamp, she presse
d her left into her stomach to physically suppress the roiling inside. Oh, she was such a fool! Mrs. Slater’s worry and agitation, her insistence that Beatrice had sent her to Dani for help—she’d believed all of it. But there had been no reason not to believe her, not when the woman knew all the details of how a vanishing worked, right down to the warehouse. This warehouse. The only way she could have known was if Hartsham had told her. And the only way Hartsham would have known…

  Dear God. Elise. He knew about this warehouse only because John Porter must have led him here two years ago, because this must have been where she was to meet up with him. Dani swallowed hard to force down the rising bile—because this was where Hartsham murdered her before dumping her body in the park to make her death look like an accident.

  Shaking uncontrollably as fear knotted her insides, she moved away from him with every step he advanced toward her. “You lured me here so you can kill me the same way that”—her words strangled in her tightening throat—“that you killed Elise.”

  “Not the same way,” he corrected coldly, his hands tightening and releasing at his sides. As if he couldn’t wait to get his hands around her throat. “Two women with broken necks would be too suspicious. And not at all as easy with you, I suspect. Elise Donnelly was so trusting, so easy to kill. All I had to do was walk up behind her, grab her head, and twist.”

  Her belly burned with terror and grief. “This is madness! You’re killing innocent women just because we’ve dared to remove prostitutes from a brothel, just so you can keep committing blackmail. Why? You’re an earl, for God’s sake!” Her gaze swung between the earl and Mrs. Slater. “You don’t need the money—either of you—not badly enough to commit murder.”

  “This isn’t about money,” Mrs. Slater interjected. “It’s about power and the crown and all—”

  “It was never about money,” Hartsham interjected to silence her. He pulled a knife from his jacket sleeve, and Dani let out a terrified cry. “It was about using the women and girls to exchange favors with men in important positions, or resorting to stronger tactics when the men don’t want to cooperate. Elise Donnelly got in the way when she began to smuggle the girls out of London and had to be removed.” He gestured around the warehouse with the knife. “If you had just stayed silent, no one would have known about her connection to the brothel. But you talked to Hampton, told him about the prostitutes, convinced my wife to confide in you—you’re the link in the chain between Mrs. Donnelly’s murder and the brothel, and tonight, that chain will be broken.”