The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 4 (The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Sets)

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  Her eyes widened. "Oh no, Philip, surely you don't think--"

  But even as she began to protest, she knew. Knew, and trembled.

  He fixed her with a hard stare from his remarkable sherry-brown eyes. He weighed, assessed, his gaze like a caress, though with nothing threatening or lewd about it.

  She could see it for what it was. It was the gaze of an honest man who wanted everything laid out in the open between them. A man who could be trusted implicitly, though her fears told her that he had brought danger to her doorstep once more. The gaze of a man desperate for her help. And only she had the power to give it to him.

  Eswara had said it, Matthew too. She had the power... And only good could ever defeat evil.

  "Patrice is very much like you. A woman of unquestionable purity and decency, religious and kind to a fault. The kind of girl ripe for debauching by the person who took you and sold you into that brothel."

  Althea bit her lip and blushed.

  "Please, I know how hard it is for you to think about that night. That you'd like to put it all behind you, and be happy with Matthew, live a normal life with the man you love. I know how hard it's been. I've been through something similar with my own wife Jasmine, after having been made a victim of worldly, selfish people for far longer than I care to remember."

  "I know," she said, nodding. "It's taken a lot of courage for you to do that, by all accounts. I'm glad it's worked out for you. And thanks to all your help when Matthew first rescued me, well, it's worked out for me too. Thank you, thank you both."

  He gave a tight smile again and nodded. "You're very welcome. And that's why I've dared to come. Because I know you've been through hell, but you've survived, nay, thrived as a result of the adversity.

  "So while I hate to bring it all up again, I think you're strong enough now to face the truth. And while it might be more prudent to let sleeping dogs lie where you're concerned, that you deserve to know the truth. To find out who harmed you so foully, and bring them to justice.

  "Because I'll lay any odds you like that the same man has got her. Patrice isn't as strong as you, and she could be even now in any number of bawdy houses in London. Or even a private house. We have to find her before it's too late."

  "Oh Philip, I would love to help, but you said it happened almost five days ago. It may already be too late."

  "I can't think that. I won't be so defeatist. And in any event, we know a fair bit about the perpetrators already. I feel certain we can help her before it's too late."

  "We do?" she said numbly, feeling a cold creep of fear up her spine as she moved to pour the distraught man a tot of whisky from the crystal decanters on the drawing room side board.

  He nodded. "Aye. Small enough clues, but better than nothing. When I went down to make discreet inquiries as to how you could have gone missing without your step-mama knowing or seemingly caring, I discovered that several girls had vanished in the district in the past couple of years, too many to my way of thinking. So all of this has been carefully plotted and planned for some time. Which is why, whilst they may be cunning, they are also likely vulnerable."

  "Vulnerable? Those men?" She shivered.

  "They made a mistake in your case, did they not, and now we are on their trail. I also know the condition Antony Herriot found you in when Matthew rescued you in the brothel."

  She poured herself a sherry and downed in it one gulp. "Indeed."

  "So yes, we are running out of time, but I don't think we're too late yet."

  "I pray not," she said, pouring herself a second drink, then bringing both glasses over to where he sat and handing him his.

  "Aye, I think they would want to play with her first like a cat toying with a mouse, and it would take a few days to subdue her with the opium to render her in the dazed, er, sacrificial state that Matthew found you in. An addict, God help us all." He looked as though he would be ill.

  "Aye, but I'm better now, and shall remain so if I am always careful."

  "Still, I can't just hope for the best. I might have some time if I leave right now and ride to Enfield without stopping, but not much. If you can give me any clues at all, I'd be greatly in your debt."

  "Oh Lord," she said, wringing her hands as she started to pace up and down herself. "I've worked so hard to suppress the memories. It's so difficult. I can't just blurt out what you need to know, not here. Not like this. And they might not even be in Enfield any longer--"

  "Still, it's a start, if you can tell me anything you recall, no matter how small or insignificant, which can help me track the trail from the time you were taken, until the time Matthew found you in London."

  Althea rose from her seat in obvious agitation. She paced for a moment on the hearthrug, then strode over to the window and gazed out at the lovely day. It almost mocked the darkness, the crushing sense of despair, the impotence she felt inside.

  She blinked again as a stray cloud scudded over the sky, eclipsing the sun for a brief moment, only to make it appear to burst out even more brightly than before.

  But that was the key, wasn't it? she decided, her ragged breathing levelling out the more she gazed over the lovely landscape of her happy home and drew strength from it. The only way to combat evil was with good. And the only way to combat powerlessness was to be strong. To be a goddess, just as Eswara and Matthew had helped her become.

  She turned to face her agitated visitor with a new feeling of calm and purpose. "I can understand you being terrified for Patrice, but we need to be rational and practical if we have any hope of saving her."

  "We?" he echoed, tugging at his neck cloth, unease suddenly prickling the nape of his neck.

  "You can't do this by yourself. We need all the Rakehells we can get, and anyone else reliable and discreet from amongst our acquaintance who can be spared. If they really have taken her, then perhaps this is my best chance to bring those men to justice."

  "What are you saying?" he gasped.

  "I'm saying the only way I'm ever going to be free of the past is if I hunt down the culprits. I'm going to put a couple of things into a valise and come with you. While I pack, you must send notes to all of the Rakehells explaining what has happened. We need to find all the men responsible, and as you've said, we have little time."

  "All?" he repeated, appalled. "How many were there?"

  She shut her eyes, willing the memories to come from the shadows where she had so forcefully tried to drive them. "At my best guess, I would say nine, but it could be as many as twelve."

  "Twelve?" Even the worldly Philip paled.

  "Aye, twelve, with a leader to make up thirteen, as in a witch's coven."

  He gaped. When he was finally able to speak again, he whispered, "I'm so sorry, Althea. I had no idea. Matthew told us you had been attacked, but this goes beyond-"

  He sat with his head in his hands on the sofa, overwhelmed and almost in despair at the thought of his poor cousin being in the hands of such madmen.

  Althea closed her eyes. "I can tell by the different voices, and seeing them naked. They wore masks, but not all men are exactly the same, if you take my meaning. One was most certainly my step-brother. Another two had to be his particular friends in the district, the Conroy lads. Three other men were quite a bit older, heavy set, paunchy from too much good living. Local merchants and squires, I'll be bound. Look for the most rakish in the area and you'll probably find them.

  "I'm not sure about the others except that there were definitely three more regular ones, and some who came in for a, er, fiddle. A group that size can't congregate without someone knowing something."

  Philip nodded. "Good point."

  "Let's rule out the houses where the other girls went missing."

  "Why? They took you. It might be all the more easy to throw suspicion off themselves to victimize women in their own homes."

  She shook her head. "I was a mere step-child, remember." She went over to the desk and took pen, ink, and paper out of the drawers. "No, no matter how d
ebauched they are, I doubt they are taking turns harming their own and each other's daughters. So they must be childless, or have sons, most likely not even married because they hate women. I can start giving you a list, and draw you a map now."

  "That's assuming they all come from the area."

  She closed her eyes again. "I don't recall the sound of a lot of horses or carriages going to and fro, nor the smells and sweat of anyone who had taken a good vigorous ride, not much mud, so yes, I would say local for the most part."

  "Good girl," he praised, as he came to look over her shoulder at the list and map she was drawing up.

  "So if we have the Rakehells' help and keep a low profile, we can watch all of these houses in the district and even try to catch them red-handed. Track the movements of the men I am certain of, at the very least, and one of the three should lead us to her place of captivity."

  "An excellent plan. But I hate asking--"

  She gripped his arm hard. "Don't be silly. Any right-minded person would be more than eager to help. We need to ask for their assistance and notify the authorities. All I need is a tiny bit of proof and I shall be able to rest easy. More to the point, Matthew will as well."

  "Aye, where is he?" Philip asked, looking around.

  "Gone to Bristol, else he would be here and happy to help, I'm sure. No, what I meant was, he's so fearful of them coming to take me again, or someone else harming me, he scarcely dares let me out of his sight. I love him dearly, but I can't keep living like this. Like I'm in hiding all the time for some crime I didn't even commit."

  "I understand."

  "Tell the Rakehells to wear dark clothes and bring pistols. Write ahead to London, get Antony and Oliver to pass along anything they might have learned recently, and too keep their ears open. You can also tell Alistair what I suspect. He will put pressure to the authorities to send someone to investigate."

  He nodded. "If I give you the addresses now, and you can spare some servants to post the messages, you can write yourself, in my name. I must be on my way."

  "I'll spare the servants, gladly, but I'm coming with you. So you write, I'll pack, and be with you in ten minutes." She shoved the pen and paper at him.

  Philip shook his head. "Matthew will kill me if I take you with me in your condition."

  She stared at him in shock. "How did you know? I've only just become sure myself."

  He shrugged one shoulder. "Intuition. Sorry, I'm just an expert on women. The point is you're not going," he said in a firm tone.

  Althea put her hand on his sleeve. "I need to come with you. I know there's something else about all this I've forced myself to forget, but which could be all the difference to your poor cousin Patrice. But I need time."

  "I understand, but--"

  "So write those letters. Tell everyone we'll put our plan into motion in three days' time."

  "Plan? What plan?"

  She was already striding for the door. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing. I know them for what they are, and that will be the key to defeating them. It will be all right. Just listen, and don't argue. I'll explain it all in the coach once we're under way. We need to meet in a place where our arrival will not be so obvious. Tell them the town of Bartlet is large enough. The King's Head will do. I'll write to Matthew to explain. You take care of the other letters. And I'll pack some of Matthew's clothes for you too, and him. I can guess you haven't bothered with anything so mundane as even a change of linen."

  He ducked his head in embarrassment. "No, you're right, I said goodbye to Jasmine and came straight here. I knew you could help."

  She gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "I'll do my best. I know Matthew will be upset, but I would never want anyone to go through what I went through. It was bad enough the hell of being imprisoned and sodomised. At least I wasn't deflowered and raped. Left pregnant or diseased.

  "I was lucky Matthew came, that I loved him, always had, even though the circumstances under which we married could have been a great deal better. But with Patrice, God knows what beast they might be planning to sell her to."

  "If they harm her, I'll kill the whole bloody pack of them!" he rasped.

  She shook her head and moved over to grasp his shoulder firmly. "Philip, you're an ex-convict. You would hang for certain if you so much as laid a hand on one of them. No, brains wins the day over brawn. You need to leave this to the authorities, and to me."

  "You? You'll pardon my saying so, but you didn't do very well looking after yourself when they snatched you," he said quietly.

  She held her head high, though inwardly she quailed at his words. "I know. But I was drugged. Outnumbered, helpess. I'm thinking clearly now. There's a lot I can do about this given a bit more time to plan. And with the Rakehells backing me. I'm not the same naive girl I was all those months ago, Philip. They're not going to get the better of me again."

  He gave a long groan. "Matthew is going to skin me alive."

  "Not if we get Patrice back safely and stop those men. Besides, it's my decision, not his. I'll be ready in ten minutes."

  "I'll let you have half an hour. I'll need all your servants to round up our little army."

  "Whatever you need. I'll tell Jones to make sure all your orders are carried out."

  "Thank you."

  Althea hugged him. "Don't mention it."

  "Oh no, you're not brushing off my gratitude so lightly."

  "No, indeed I'm not. Just don't thank me yet. Not until Patrice is safe."

  "Aye, and will certainly pray to the gods to keep her so," he said grimly and bent his dark head to begin writing his missives.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Althea was as good as her word. She was ready in ten minutes herself, and wrote her own note to Matthew whilst her staff prepared men's clothes, food and drink for the journey.

  If they road post in Philip Marshall's carriage and travelled day and night, and had not difficulty with changing horses, they might be able to reach Enfield within two days. She could take her ease at The King's Arms at Bartlet, wait for their friends to amass, and prepare herself for the next stage in the game.

  The final stage if she had anything to do with it.

  Althea forced the flickering memories back into their assigned place, for the moment at least. If she allowed them to filter upwards from the dark recesses of her mind she had relegated them to, she might well be overwhelmed, and the poor girl would be truly lost.

  She was not going to let that happen, not if she could help it. She had been gifted with a reprieve from a fate worse than death. She had life, love, happiness in full measure, such as she had never known or even suspected could exist.

  But Patrice would not be so fortunate, of that she was sure, not unless they got to her in time. Althea had no doubt what her fate would have been if Matthew had not come for her. Rape, assault, and sexual enslavement for as long as it had suited them to keep her alive.

  But that would not have been long; long enough to wrest the entirety of her estate away from her bit by bit. Long enough to make money as her pimp, until she became too ill or disease ridden to work. Or pregnant, in which case she would have either been forced to get rid of the child, with all the associated risks involved with abortion, or have the baby, also with its own grave risks. It would have been taken from her, thrown in the orphanage as were so many others, and...

  "I said are you ready?"

  She blinked and realised she had slumped over the desk, clutching at it weakly for support. She caught Philip's look of consternation, saw him opening his mouth to protest that she shouldn't come after all.

  She drew herself to her full height through sheer willpower. "I'm fine. It was nothing. A momentary vision of what was, and will be if we don't go now. Come, don't look so worried. I'll be fine."

  "I'm glad one of us is. For I'm sick to my stomach with apprehension."

  She took his arm and moved to the foyer, where she donned her cloak and bonnet quickly, and lifted one of the portman
teaux.

  "Here, let me."

  "Not at all. I can manage. I'm not going to allow what happened to me define my entire life. I have told Matthew that, and I'm telling you. I'm not sick."

  "I was thinking more about you being pregnant," Philip said with a sheepish look at her stomach.

  "Oh, quite. But I'm not sick," she maintained. "Women have been having babies since the beginning of time. I'll be fine. Come, the carriage is waiting."

  He took her arm and helped her into it. They settled back in their seats opposite one another, and watched the house fade into the distance as they headed for the main road to London.