The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife

by J. Jade Jordan

  Reed closed the journal and stuffed it into the bag of tools they’d brought along in case they needed them. “His entries taper off after that, which is even more alarming. Why has he changed a life time’s habit?”

  “There are far too many paintings to carry, so I’m assuming they can wait until we’ve had Dubuc arrested?” Jace said.

  “Yes. Or perhaps we can ask some of the Spares to collect them? Trying to save Moreau has to be our priority.” Reed finished closing the box and nodded to Jace, indicating he was ready to raise it up.

  Jace moved to the pulley on the wall, grabbed hold of the rope and signaled Reed to begin lifting the box. “How are we going to find out where he took Moreau? If, by some miracle, his uncle isn’t dead yet, Dubuc will ensure the deed is done soon. He’s in too deep. It would be too dangerous not to dispose of his relative. His uncle is the only one who can point an accusing finger at him.”

  Reed hastened to the back door. “I need to make Mrs. Leighton aware that the man is dangerous.” He wished he could tell Jace who Tally really was, but it felt like betraying her. “Though I don’t believe she is in any imminent danger. From what our man told us, Dubuc appears to be on his way out of London. Nevertheless, I’m relieved we’ve left her well protected with your men watching the house.” Indeed, if they hadn’t, even if he thought Dubuc was no danger to Tally right now, he might have dropped everything and raced over there sooner, just to be sure she was safe.

  “We’ll keep McCracken watching this flat. It worked well for us today and if Dubuc should return before the paintings have been removed, we wouldn’t want him to abscond with them.” He turned to survey the room to ensure it was left as orderly as it was. “Though, if, as McCracken said, he headed off with his valise and pistol case, I fear we may already be too late to save his uncle.”

  They left the way they came. Reed reset the lock on the back door and followed Jace out into the back lane. They were about to leave when they were confronted by a stocky, older man at the back of the house.

  “What were you looking for? Did you find anything?” he demanded in a gruff voice.

  “Why do you want to know?” Reed returned warily.

  “I am Gaston Beauclaire, Antoine Moreau’s good friend, and you are…?”

  “Reed Gordon Eames, Viscount Selwich.” It was always wise to throw around one’s title when caught red-handed. “And this is…,” at Jace’s abrupt shake of the head, Reed said, “Mr. Manfred.” His own disguise’s name would do.

  “Why were you in Victor’s rooms?” Wariness roughened the art agent’s words.

  Not that Reed blamed him. The man had caught them sneaking out of Dubuc’s home like common thieves. “We have reason to believe he has stolen some paintings.”

  “Stolen paintings! From where? From whom?”

  “From his uncle’s studio.”

  Beauclaire closed his eyes. He looked frightened. “Antoine has been gone for almost a month, his neighbors told me. He’s disappeared without a trace.” His distress was clear in his trembling voice. “I’ve been trying to keep an eye on Victor ever since I returned from Paris ten days ago. Something bad is going on and I think he is involved.”

  “Have you any idea why Moreau has vanished?” Jace asked.

  “Non. Mais… I might know where he has been taken.” The heavyset French man gave them a pleading look.

  Reed looked at Jace incredulously. Was it going to be that easy?

  “Where?” Jace asked tersely.

  “First, I must know, why are you searching for the missing paintings?”

  “We think he is the one who burned down Moreau’s studio last night.”

  “Sal pute!” Beauclaire cursed. “I didn’t know.” His hand shook as he clutched the side of his head in confusion. “Have all the paintings been burned?” His horror was palpable.

  “No. They’re safe.” Reed jerked his head back toward the apartment. “He’s stored them in there.”

  Hearing Beauclaire’s whoosh of relief, Reed said, “You know about the paintings?”

  “But of course. Antoine keeps nothing from me.”

  “You say you think you might know where Dubuc has taken his uncle?” Jace was all for moving this investigation along at a faster pace.

  Reed believed it unlikely the aged art agent could have any real idea where his friend had been taken or surely he would have done something about going to get him.

  “I think, maybe, at Mellon or Metton Abbey?” Beauclaire said.

  Still skeptical, Reed asked, “Why do you think he took him there?”

  “Two days ago, I follow Victor to the studio. After he leave, I go in to see what he did.” He removed a paper from his pocket. “I find this paper on the floor by the door. He must have dropped it. It had the name of a place on it.” He unfolded the paper and handed it to Reed. “I have trouble reading the writing.”

  Reed hid his shock. This man knew where Moreau was and had done nothing! Yet he claimed he was a good friend!

  “I ‘ave been trying to find out about this Abbey.” He looked exhausted and beaten. “I’m too old for this kind of… intrigue.” I’ve been following that one around for days and getting little sleep or time to eat.” He gestured to his legs. “I ‘ave health problems. I cannot go there myself.” Beauclaire’s voice shook with emotion. “I fear for Antoine’s life.”

  Ah... now he understood. “We will be on our way within the hour.” Reed assured the older man. “We have our own reasons for wanting to find Moreau.”

  Beauclaire’s face brightened. “Tres bien.” He took Reed’s hand and pumped it vigorously. “Merci beaucoup. I can never repay you enough.” He handed them his card. “If you need anything, you ask me.”

  Reed took the card. “Can you arrange to have those paintings removed from Dubuc’s flat?”

  The older man’s face brightened. He was glad to be given something he could do to help. “Mais oui, I will get our friends to do that immediately.”

  “Good. But if he returns, do not confront him. He is armed.” At Beauclaire’s shocked look, he patted Moreau’s friend on the shoulder. “We will take care of this and let you know when we have news”

  “Oui, oui. Merci encore.” He tipped his hat, turned and left them.

  Jace and Reed watched him limp off with a lighter step.

  “I fear his dear friend, Antoine, may not still be of this world if he’s been gone for that long,” Jace said sotto voce.

  Reed handed the paper to Jace. “Do you think Dubuc could have meant Melton Abbey, on Cranridge’s estate?”

  Jace grunted. “Awful writing! Not same quality as in his journals. But yes, could be that Abbey. Cranridge has been away a long time. That duel was over twelve years ago.”

  “Had no family to speak of either. Could be a good place to hide someone if the place has been left untended.” Reed set off toward the main road. “Is Moirs in Town? Isn’t his father’s estate in the same county? Maybe he knows what’s happened to the estate since Cranridge fled.” He was walking fast as he talked. “Let’s just hope Dubuc has a reason to keep his uncle alive.” He was thinking of the pistols their man had seen the nephew with earlier. “I’ve just realized. McCracken said Dubuc didn’t use his brand new curricle. He left in a barouche-landau with a driver.”

  When the man had come to collect Tally in his curricle, Reed had wondered if it was borrowed to impress. Last night, in their investigations, they’d learned that Dubuc had recently purchased it, which had given rise to speculation as to where he could have obtained sufficient funds.

  “For a longer trip.” Jace understood immediately what Reed was thinking.

  “If so, on horseback we might have time to stop Dubuc from killing Moreau. Come on!” He broke into a run. “We can’t waste anymore time,” he said, as they reached their horses. “I’m still going to stop by the house first to warn Mrs. Leighton to steer clear of Dubuc. If we’re wrong and he hasn’t gone to see his uncle, he might come calling. H
e’s gone to a lot of trouble to carry out his plan. Even broken with, and perhaps killed, the man who raised him. He might decide he needs her to complete his plans.”

  * * *

  The minute he dismounted, the front door to his house flew open.

  Joseph ran down the stairs calling “Mr. Leighton! Mr. Leighton! She’s gone! Our Missy is gone!”

  Inside the hallway, an agitated Foster was pacing, clearly waiting for him. “She went for a drive this morning.” Tally’s butler was visibly upset. “That was hours ago and she’s not back yet.”

  “Drive with whom?” But he already knew. The sick feeling in his gut told him.

  “With that Frenchie. I should have known something was wrong when he wasn’t in that fancy rig of his. Women may think he has a pretty face but he’s rotten to the core, you mark my words.” Foster wagged his finger in the air.

  “How long have they been gone?” Damnation, while they were busy learning everything they could about the man and then searching Dubuc’s rooms, smug in their abilities to bring him to justice, the knave had absconded with Tally.

  “Over five hours ago,” Foster answered tersely.

  That long. Long enough to do a lot of harm. He didn’t even want to think about that. The past year of following the Vanisher and witnessing his utter depravity had taught Reed more than he wanted to know about the inhumanity of some men, especially against defenseless young women. Although, the idea of Tally as defenseless didn’t quite fit, he thought, rubbing his hand over his sore shoulder.

  “Do you know where they were going?” Reed strode to the library. He had to send a note to Jace immediately.

  “Don’t know.” Foster shuffled slowly into the library behind Reed, looking every day of his seventy-two years. “He told her he’d heard from his uncle and was going to take her to see him.”

  Damn! They’d have to speed up their plans and bring along reinforcements. “What about Mason, did he follow them?”

  “No. When Miss Tally told him she was going to remain at home, he said he had business to attend to. She’s not his only client. And she did stay in, until that bloody Frenchman sent his note around.” He let out a harried breath. “She took Joseph with her, but Dubuc insisted the boy be let off a little ways outside of Town.”

  “Outside of...!” Noting the almost frantic look in Foster’s eyes, he changed it to, “I told Mason to keep an eye on Tally today. Why didn’t he do as he was asked?”

  “Because he does what Missy tells him; she’s the one who hired him.”

  Reed grabbed some foolscap from the desk and began writing. “Can Joseph run this errand?”

  Foster stuck his head out the door and called for the boy, who appeared immediately.

  Reed sealed the note and sent Joseph off to let Jace know they had a situation that required much more speed than they had planned for, then set about putting together a plan and getting his weapons organized. He’d asked Jace to gather all the Spares on hand. They might need more help than they expected. Joseph was to deliver a second note to Reed’s brothers, who were doubtless waiting to hear from him. They’d helped with investigating Dubuc and Monsieur last evening and would be waiting to hear what his snooping expedition had reaped today.

  “Where the hell is Mason when we need him?” he almost shouted.

  “Right here.”

  “Good! I fear Mrs. Leighton has been kidnapped and is in grave danger.” Reed told him. “We think it has something to do with her father’s paintings.” He picked up his gloves and hat. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  “I’m going too.” Foster said. It was obvious he had no intention of being left behind.

  Reed didn’t even try to dissuade the old soldier. “So long as you can keep up.”

  “If I can’t, ye can tell me where we’re going and I’ll get there a mite slower.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Tally sat quietly, gazing out the window of the carriage, watching the farm land go by. Her mind wasn’t quiet, though. It was jumping about in alarm, wondering what she had gotten herself into. It had been a trying few hours and she needed to regain her composure so she could think.

  Think! she silently screamed. What was she to do?

  Mr. Dubuc and she had started out in a cordial fashion, with him being his usual charming self. It was after he once again proposed and she again refused, that his charm began to slip.

  He’d suddenly demanded, “Who is this Gordon?”

  Her first reaction was ‘Oh oh! Here comes trouble.’ Then she became annoyed. What right had he to demand anything from her?

  She’d been tempted to reply, ‘My husband.’ But from once considering Mr. Dubuc a pacific, even gentle person, she now sensed his volatility, and answered mildly enough, “A friend of the family.”

  “But why does he make so free of your house?”

  “Because it is his. He is my landlord. He owns both sides of the townhouse.” Not exactly, his father did, but she felt that, in this instance, she could play fast and loose with the truth.

  “So he is no more than that to you, your landlord?”

  Her instinctive pause must have signaled that her answer wasn’t so straightforward, because his eyes flared, hot with anger. Yet he persisted. “So I still have a chance to woo you?”

  “Mr. Dubuc!” She threw her arms up in exasperation. She felt like boxing his ears! “I have explained, several times, that I do not intend to ever marry... anyone!” Enunciating with clenched teeth was no easy task. What about ‘I do not want to marry! Ever.’ was so difficult to understand? Were all men this intractable when it came to accepting a woman’s rejection?

  “But what if Society were to learn you are living with a man?” he asked in a sly, not so charming voice.

  “Living with him!” Her hand flattened against her chest. “But that is absurd! Outrageous! And totally untrue!” He had to be taking a stab in the dark. Where could he have come by such information? Foster certainly wouldn’t tell and she had no servants to gossip. Other than Mrs. P, whom he hadn’t yet encountered… had he?

  No. He must have jumped to the erroneous — if only by a day — conclusion when he met Reed in her house. And now he sought to use it to force her to yield to him. “Extortion is such a sordid and nasty practice.” She was liking him less and less with each meeting. “But the only way it can work is if you have incontrovertible proof of the deed you are accusing the victim of and, in this case, that would be impossible because it never happened. The man has only just returned from abroad, which is why we moved houses.”

  Thank heavens, she’d insisted they move immediately and hadn’t put it off even for a day, as Foster had suggested.

  She smiled gently at him, though inside she was seething at his obvious attempt to manipulate her. “My grandmother has very good standing in Society and will vouch for my good character. But just so you know, that kind of coercion would never work with me.” She pasted on a blithe smile. “I care very little what Society thinks of me. I’d be content to spend the rest of my days deep in the countryside, not bothered by people with minds so tiny they would believe your lies.” Sending him a penetrating look, she voiced her sudden insight. “Now, if they did that to you, you would not be at all pleased, would you? You care very much what they think of you, don’t you?”

  He’d been about to interrupt her but now his mouth snapped shut so hard, she heard his jaw crack. She worried he might resort to violence to get his way. He was fulminating with fury. Tense silence reigned in the carriage.

  Many fraught moments later, he appeared to have regained control. He rolled his taut shoulders, sighed and gave her a ‘you-brought-this-on-yourself’ look. He leaned forward and tapped the wall behind the driver with his walking stick.

  “You are becoming a liability, my dear. Now that I think about it, I can just as easily woo a beautiful Parisian artist to keep me in style. Indeed, she will fit into my plans even better.” The vehicle sped up and he sat back with a self-s
atisfied smile and made himself comfortable.

  She looked around and, in consternation, noted that they were on their way out of the city. “Where are we going?”

  “To see mon oncle, just as I promised you.” But his smile was not a trustworthy one.

  “And where is he?”

  “In Sussex.”

  “Sussex! Why, that will take all day! More than one day!” she exclaimed.

  “At least eleven or twelve hours, I should think, maybe more if the roads are bad,” he replied calmly.

  Her first instinct was to demand that he stop being ridiculous, to turn around and take her home. But his gloating smile told her he wanted to see her beg. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She had her pistol and would use it should she need to do so. She sat back and adopted a serene expression. Inside, her mind scurried from plan to fruitless plan, while her heart raced with fear.

  She should have known he was up to something when he insisted on putting Joseph off.

  They had his driver, he insisted, which took care of being chaperoned. She had known it wasn’t up to Society’s standards, but was accustomed to sailing close to the line with respect to social niceties. He was quite insistent and she hadn’t wanted him to take the child to task for her choices. He’d told her they weren’t going far when they’d started out and she had believed him, but they had been driving for a long while and now he told her they were going to Sussex.

  She was so gullible. And always too confident of her own ability to cope!

  “I didn’t leave word that I was going to be away for more than a few hours. They will worry,” she said after awhile.

  “Servants know their masters are not always reliable. They’ll assume you are busy enjoying yourself with friends,” he drawled carelessly.