She took a deep breath to avoid bursting into tears.
Although she wouldn’t mind being coerced into marrying him, she could not face a lifetime of indifference and resentment if he were forced to marry her.
“This way, Miss Haywood. It is Miss Haywood, is it not?” the man in black asked.
She nodded.
“I am afraid we haven’t been introduced. I am Mr. Knighton Gaunt.”
“Lovely to meet you,” she said, struggling to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Mr. Gaunt almost appeared to be Spanish with such somber clothing and dark skin, however he sounded quite English and well educated.
“If you would follow me, please?” He led the way down the corridor to a narrow staircase.
She followed him without looking back at Nathaniel. Her neck grew rigid with the effort not to glance over her shoulder by the time they descended three flights of stairs. The last, wide staircase brought them into a carpeted hallway lined with beautiful pastoral paintings.
Charlotte glanced around. She had the oddest sensation that she had been here before. When she halted, Mr. Gaunt gently cupped her elbow and ushered her into a sitting room. Lady Dacy was sitting on a narrow, upholstered bench near a blazing fire.
“Lady Dacy!” Charlotte exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
The plump lady rose, her brows arched in surprise. “Why, I live here. Are you the one who has been living in our attic?” She laughed. “We thought we had ghosts!”
“Your attic? Ghosts?” Charlotte repeated, confused. “This is your house?”
“Yes, indeed.” She smiled and held out her hand to her husband, who followed Charlotte into the sitting room.
Charlotte caught Nathaniel’s eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck again and glanced away, clearly embarrassed.
She had been held prisoner in Lord Dacy’s house. Her temper flared and squeezed her throat shut. Her mind raced through schemes and plots until it found the only reasonable explanation for the situation.
The duke needs money.
That’s why he proposed to her—it wasn’t for those ludicrous reasons he mumbled in the garden. Oh, how it must have frustrated and angered him when she refused. Then, thwarted by her decision, he had subsequently hired the two men to kidnap her. He may have even hoped to get her money without marrying her by getting a ransom instead. It was a brilliant scheme, in its way.
Unfortunately, the “gentleman kidnapper” the duke hired had gotten his own ideas. He thought he could compromise the heiress himself and either marry her or get his hands on the bulk of the ransom. However Red, still trying to obey Nathaniel’s orders, had saved her by moving her to the Dacy household, and then he had obviously informed his employer of this change in plans.
Sadly for Nathaniel, the newspapers had discovered and reported her kidnapping. Her absence, along with the murders, must have increased the pressure on the duke to the point where he had to change his plans. He couldn’t wait for a ransom. If he wanted her money, he had to find a way to overcome her objections to marriage.
So, Nathaniel had “miraculously” arrived to save her, knowing that she would be thankful to see him. And in accordance with his plans, she had fallen right into his arms. In her gratitude, she had kissed him in front of two witnesses, witnesses he had ensured would be present in case she later thought no one knew she had been compromised.
The Duke of Peckham had meant all along to marry her for her fortune.
It all made perfect sense.
“Thank goodness you are safe, after all,” Lady Dacy said, sitting down again and pouring out several cups of tea.
Charlotte waved her cup away. She had not lacked for tea during her confinement, no indeed, that was not what she lacked at all.
“I know what you must be thinking,” Nathaniel said, trying to catch her gaze.
“I sincerely doubt that.” She eyed him with loathing, wishing she didn’t remember the love she had felt in his arms. Her chin rose fractionally. “Although I must confess, I never expected to be kidnapped and held prisoner in Lord Dacy’s attic.”
“I can assure you, we were just as surprised to find you there,” Lord Dacy replied dryly.
“And you have found the kidnappers, I presume? Particularly the savage little gentleman?” She sat down on the edge of a dainty chair covered with gold silk and twined her cold fingers together in her lap.
“There was a second man?” Mr. Gaunt asked. “Who? Can you describe him?”
She shook her head, “I am afraid he kept a sack over his head. Other than that, he was of medium height and build. A bit shorter than I.” She stared hard at Nathaniel. “I am sure you will find him.”
When he caught her gaze, Nathaniel flushed. “I had no idea where you were. I have been frantic—”
“Yes, I am sure it was a frightful surprise to you when you came up to the attic to find me,” she said, cutting him off. “Whatever did you expect to discover there?”
“Mummified rats, if you want the truth,” Nathaniel said. “Or ghosts. It was Cheery who said you might be there.”
“Cheery?” She arched a brow.
“Mr. Gaunt,” Nathaniel replied. When she didn’t comment, he continued, “I knew him at Eton.”
As if that explains anything.
“I see.” She thought the name, Cheery, was odd for a man with such striking resemblance to a member of the Spanish Inquisition, but she wasn’t his mother. Perhaps he had been a cheerful, sunny child, although frankly, she rather doubted it.
Mr. Gaunt exchanged a few words with Lord Dacy and then excused himself.
“Don’t you want to know what happened?” Charlotte asked at last. Of course they didn’t, since they already knew, but she couldn’t resist the opportunity to make them feel even the tiniest particles of discomfort and guilt.
Lord Dacy and Nathaniel exchanged glances. Lord Dacy finally answered, “Yes, however, if you don’t mind—could we wait for Mr. Gaunt to return? He assisted us by investigating, and I would like him to be present to hear your story.”
Charlotte picked up her cup of tea and took a sip before nodding. Without glancing at the men, she leaned over and selected an almond biscuit to nibble on. It tasted like dry, gritty sand. She washed it down with tea.
Mr. Gaunt soon returned, accompanied by two others and a dog.
Red, the maid, Rose, and a white, three-legged dog limped into the room, chivvied forward by Mr. Gaunt.
“Here we are,” he said, smiling. “I see you have been made comfortable, Miss Haywood.”
“Indeed,” she replied frostily.
She was hardly comfortable sitting in Lord Dacy’s golden drawing room while dressed in what amounted to little more than a rough brown linen sack with matching jacket. Not to mention her hair hanging down her back in uncontrollable tangles and curls. She’d had no way to maintain her previously well-groomed Grecian knot, so she’d simply left it to cascade over her shoulders.
She looked like a hoyden, and she knew it.
“I would like to congratulate you on your ingenious note,” Mr. Gaunt continued. “The clues you sent to Mr. Archer were critical to my—our—discovery of your location.”
Charlotte glanced at Red and blushed. She felt horrible about tricking him. Then, a sudden fear assailed her. Were they going to let Red and Rose take the blame when the entire plot had clearly been engineered by the duke? It was just the sort of rotten action she expected from an aristocrat, even if she would never have expected it of him.
Almost against her better judgment, she liked Red. The man had kept her safe from the second kidnapper, who seemed to have no compunction in scaring her.
Suddenly, Charlotte wanted Rose and Red to find a way to save the money they needed to marry. She wanted them to buy the silly little tavern from Red’s cousin and lived happily ever after. She wanted them to experience the love she would never find.
After all, the only thing Nathaniel adored was Charlotte’s fortune, and she remembered
Lady Beatrice’s words, hurled down at her along with the jug of water at school.
No one wanted her. All they wanted was her money.
Those words had hurt at the time, but not like they did now. Not since Charlotte had realized that it didn’t matter what Nathaniel did, or what she thought he did, she still loved him. She would always love him.
And the ache in her heart would never go away. That hollow feeling would remain if she went to Egypt or the moon.
She sipped her tea and waited in silence.
Mr. Gaunt pulled out a wrinkled bit of paper—her note—and read her words about Red, Rose and the dog. He glanced at her when he was done. “I was at a loss until I remembered a pugilist who fought under the name of ‘The Red Death’. I knew he often lent his skills to odd enterprises, so I set out to find him. I finally chanced to question some people in this neighborhood. They mentioned the Dacy residence and indicated there was a very large, red-haired fellow who used to be a prize fighter and now worked in the stables here.” He nodded to Lord Dacy. “Then Archer remembered your dog, Lord Dacy. And when I spoke to the staff, they relayed a most amazing tale. Seems the house had recently developed a reputation for being haunted. A ghost was heard at all hours, ceaselessly pacing in the attic. And of course, once I encountered this tale in combination with a household employing an upstairs maid named Rose and an ex-fighter groom named Red, I felt we were making progress.” He patted the dog’s head. “Not to mention Josephine.” The dog allowed his attentions for a few minutes before loping over to Lord Dacy and sitting down with a firm, proprietary air on his foot.
“Really? I fail to see the relevancy,” Charlotte said. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she gave him her best look of complete incomprehension.
Mr. Gaunt stared at her, apparently nonplussed. He shook the note in his hand. “You mentioned you were being kept in an attic by a large, red-haired man by the name of Red and a woman named Rose. Did you not?”
“Yes.” She studied Red briefly. He stared down at his feet, crushing his cap in his hands and rocking from foot to foot. Her heart went out to him.
The poor were always punished for the actions of the rich.
“And is this not the man you described?” He pointed to Red.
“No, it is not,” she said, her chin rising.
“But you described him perfectly! You indicated he was a large, red-haired man with scars on his face.”
“I am well aware of what I wrote. However, this is not that man. I am sure there are many, if not hundreds, of tall, scarred, red-haired men in London. In fact, wasn’t Henry the Eighth just such a large red-haired man, albeit without the scars?”
Mr. Gaunt choked, but he recovered swiftly. He eyed Charlotte with a sardonic grin that made her take another hasty sip of her tea. She sputtered and coughed when the warm liquid went down the wrong passage. When she glanced up, everyone was staring at her.
She aimed a cold frown at Nathaniel who flushed uneasily.
“I suppose it is unnecessary, then, to ask if this ‘Rose’ is the maid you described?” Mr. Gaunt asked.
“Of course it is unnecessary. She is not.”
“So you have never seen her before?” Mr. Gaunt asked with dogged persistence.
“Well, of course I have seen her. Did I not attend a ball here the very night I was kidnapped? I distinctly recall this young woman helping me with my hair in the retiring room.” Charlotte noticed Rose surreptitiously grinning at her before casting her glance down again.
Mr. Gaunt sounded almost dispirited when he asked, “But you have not seen her since?”
“No.”
“And Josephine?”
“Who is Josephine?” she asked, widening her eyes innocently.
“The dog,” Mr. Gaunt replied. He sighed. “I don’t suppose that white, scruffy, three-legged dog is the dog you described in your missive?”
Lord Dacy leaned over and grinned at the animal, scratching its ears.
She eyed the dog and dismissed it with a curt wave. “No. That is not the dog. Did I not mention that I thought the dog’s name was Jo?”
“Yes, I believe you mentioned that.” He folded the note up and placed it back in his pocket. “This is quite beyond me, I am afraid. We found a townhouse with phantom footsteps heard in the attic, a groom named Red, an upstairs maid called Rose, and a three-legged dog. We find you in said attic. And yet the groom, the maid, and the dog are not the ones you remember. Does this not strike you as odd?”
“Indeed, the entire thing strikes me as very peculiar, I am sure,” Charlotte assured him. “It is quite amazing you managed to find me at all, considering you failed to correctly identify a single clue I detailed in my note. It is very discouraging, I thought I had been so clever and clear when I wrote it.”
“Well, I am sure he did his best,” Lady Dacy said, setting her cup down. Her voice shook as if she were valiantly trying not to laugh. After a quick, steadying breath, she eyed Charlotte critically. “I am dreadfully sorry, as well, and hope you don’t think we had ought to do with this. I am just relieved we have found you safe. I do wish it had not been in my attic, though.” Her gaze flashed to the servants standing by the door. “You may go, Red. And Rose, bring another pot of tea.”
“Yes, Lady Dacy.” Rose curtsied.
When the pair glanced at Lord Dacy, he nodded and waved them away.
However, Mr. Gaunt stopped them at the door.
“Just a moment, Mr. Smythe. About that hoof knife….”
“What hoof knife?” Red Smythe stared at Mr. Gaunt, puzzlement clear in his blue eyes.
“The one missing from Lord Dacy’s stables.”
“There ain’t no knife missing.”
“Really? Not even the one used to murder Miss Mooreland?”
The puzzled look on Red’s face gradually tensed into fear. “I don’t know nothing about that.”
“You were using that knife the afternoon of the Dacy’s ball.”
“Yes, I was. I put it away as always before the ball in the tool box kept by the door.”
Mr. Gaunt stared at him in silence, but Red just stared back.
Charlotte knew he was innocent. She just knew it. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Gaunt?”
“I am not suggesting anything, Miss Haywood. I am simply trying to discover the truth.”
“I ‘ave already bespoke the truth,” Red replied.
“We shall see,” Mr. Gaunt said.
“Look at him,” Charlotte said, standing. She struggled to find a way to defend Red Smythe without admitting she knew him. “He is obviously telling the truth, and I, for one, believe him.”
“Indeed?” Mr. Gaunt turned his dark gaze back to Charlotte.
“Yes.”
“You may go, Red,” Lord Dacy said. “He is innocent, you know. I know him. He often gets up to a lot of nonsense, but he would never murder a woman.”
Charlotte lifted her chin triumphantly. “I agree.”
“We shall see,” Mr. Gaunt repeated.
“Now,” Lady Dacy said, folding her hands in her lap. “I suppose we must discuss where you have been for the last week to avoid rumors. The papers have already been very tedious. We don’t want to encourage them any further.”
****
Nathaniel sat in frustration. He wanted to drag Charlotte out of the room and talk to her, in private.
His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to will her to look at him. His gaze locked on her face. He couldn’t stop gazing at her. With a sort of hopeless fatality, he realized he loved her more than he thought possible, and he ached with the desire to put an arm around her shoulders and make her smile.
And instinctively, he knew his situation was hopeless. She certainly did not appear grateful to him for finding her, quite the reverse.
He’d mangled his previous proposal to her, and there was no reason to think she had changed her opinion about marriage in general or him in particular. She probably still thought he was a useless anachr
onistic relic from a bygone era with no purpose in life except to rot his brain with alcohol and mortgage his children’s future through excessive gaming.
In three years, if not sooner, she would depart for Egypt, and he would never see her again.
He had to stop her.
When he finally spoke, his voice grated like an old, iron gate. “We will announce our betrothal, of course. That will take care of any gossip.”
“We will not!” Charlotte stood and glared down at him.
He stood to face her. “Of course, I realize this is not what you had hoped for. However, you have been locked away. You don’t realize what has already been reported in the newspapers.”
“On the contrary, I am well aware of current events. My captor provided me with the newspaper. It seems you have been a very naughty duke. Two dead debutantes and a missing heiress, was it not? Indeed, they have even given you a new sobriquet, ‘The Deadly Duke’.”
“Then you must realize, well, we will announce our engagement. Don’t worry, I will do my best to make your life as comfortable as possible.”
“While I can appreciate your position, I fail to see any necessity for me to become engaged to you.”
“You have been compromised. Surely you—I thought….” Nathaniel stammered.
“I beg your pardon, but I have not been compromised. I suppose you are just annoyed at having your kidnapping plot uncovered by Mr. Gaunt—I assume you did discover it, did you not?” She glanced at Gaunt who nodded. “Thankfully, Mr. Gaunt and Lord Dacy prevented you from doing anything worse. No one has been compromised., and certainly not I.”
“You are free to think whatever you wish,” Nathaniel said stiffly. “However, you will marry me. I will not have the responsibility for your ruined reputation on my shoulders.”
“Then let me clarify my position, Your Grace. I would rather get down on my hands and knees and scrub the floors for eternity in Hades than marry you. My reputation, such as it is, is perfectly capable of surviving this ridiculous adventure without these histrionic declarations. Now, if you feel such an overwhelming desire to be wed, I suggest you ask a more appropriate female. I am sure the Lady Beatrice would be grateful for a proposal. She has an ample fortune, as well, and she would doubtless be more than happy to throw herself into the breach and marry you. It might even prove you are not a danger to the young women of England,” she added.
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