by Jill Gregory
He’d returned from lengthy meetings with a group of reform-minded lords only to find his household in a tizzy. Lady Stonecliff had arrived home, yes. She had been given his letter; she had gone up to change for dinner.
And no one had seen her since.
Her room—both of their rooms—had been discovered to be in disarray. When Ethan had thundered up the steps and looked for himself, he’d seen at once that the jewels he’d given her to wear, which she normally kept in a velvet-lined ivory jewel box, were missing—and that the lid of the box had been left open.
Also missing were several items of his own—jeweled stickpins, a gold-handled walking stick, a snuffbox that had belonged to his great-grandfather.
He’d stood frozen in the center of the floor until the housemaid, Brina, had tiptoed forward.
“I found this in the hall, my lord. It was lying on the carpet. I thought... it seemed to me... her ladyship may have dropped it there.”
It was his letter—the letter stating that tomorrow they were to meet with Grismore.
That’s when the rain had started, a faint but solid drumming that quite quickly began slamming against the windowpanes like coal-pellets as he’d stared silently at the letter. Had Josie panicked? Had she fled, leaving him, taking all the jewels and valuables she could get her hands on in her mad dash to get away?
Had it all been a scheme, right from the start?
Ethan remembered the way she’d felt in his arms last night, the way she’d kissed him, moved her body with his, opened herself to him in every way.
“It was no scheme,” he whispered.
“I beg your pardon, my lord?” Brina had twisted her hands together. “Were you speaking to me?”
“I’m going out,” he told her as he turned on his heel. “If her ladyship returns while I’m gone...”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He knew in his heart Josie would not be back—not until he found her. She hadn’t merely gone out to dine without saying a word to anyone—and she hadn’t run away. There was something sinister at work here.
His first thought was of Oliver Winthrop.
His second, of Ham.
* * *
“Lord Stonecliff!” Miss Perry exclaimed when he stormed into the box where she sat with Miss Crenshaw, Mr. Winthrop, and Colonel Hamring. But her delighted smile faded as she saw the dark rage on the Earl’s face.
“Whatever is wrong?” Miss Crenshaw fairly screeched.
Winthrop took one look and began backing away, nearly tripping over a gilt chair behind him, but Ethan grabbed him by the lapels of his tailcoat and wrenched him forward.
“At your lodgings they told me you were here. So where is she? What have you done with her?”
“Wh-who? I don’t know what you’re—”
Ethan’s hands closed around his cousin’s throat, but instantly Colonel Hamring was beside him, trying to pry them away. And on his other side, Miss Perry spoke in a low, breathless tone.
“My lord, this is unseemly. Only think of what you’re doing, I beg of you—the scandal... it will do Lady Stonecliff no good. In fact, she may suffer great harm... irreparable harm.”
The red fury ebbed from his eyes as her quiet, desperate words penetrated. He became aware of the countless faces turned to him from all over the theatre, the hushed silence, the shocked expressions, and he eased the pressure from Winthrop’s throat.
“Outside, then,” he snarled, and released his cousin, stepping back. But the ferocious expression in his eyes left Winthrop no hope of more than a temporary reprieve.
“Outside, you worthless piece of vermin,” Ethan said so softly, only those in the box could hear, forcing a smile onto his face as he gestured toward the door. “Before I drag you out on your worthless knees.”
When they had left the openness of the private box, he dragged Winthrop into a velvet-curtained alcove where it was dark save for one hissing gas jet.
“Now tell me what you’ve done with her before I end your stinking miserable life once and for all.”
“If you mean Lady Stonecliff...”
“Who else?” Ethan shook him till his teeth rattled.
“I haven’t seen her. Nor done anything—”
“Latherby told me you’ve been asking questions about her. That’s right,” Ethan sneered. “He came straight to me after you tried to bribe him into carrying tales of her to Grismore. You might be interested to know I gave him double the amount you offered him because he had the good sense and loyalty to toss you out on your ear. But you wouldn’t know anything about loyalty, would you, Winthrop? You’re loyal only to yourself.”
“It’s all a lie. I never—”
“And you’ve been spreading rumors about her—ugly rumors. Think you’re going to turn London against her, don’t you? And Grismore as well. But the way I’m figuring it, you weren’t satisfied with that. You wanted to get rid of her—just in case she survives your nasty little whispering campaign.”
“I will ask you one more time, Cousin, to unhand me or—”
Ethan slugged him and watched Winthrop slam against the wall.
“Or what?”
“You’re mad!”
“I’m giving you until the count of five to tell me what you’ve done with her. And if she’s been hurt...”
He advanced on Winthrop again, fists raised. Blanching, Winthrop cowered against the wall. “Nothing, I tell you. I haven’t seen her. Or done anything.”
“Hired someone?”
“No, by God, no! I was planning to meet with Grismore, that’s all, and tell him what I know—and I know plenty,” he added in a high, peevish tone, his temper getting away from him for a moment. “Enough to send that little tart packing. But I haven’t done away with her, if that’s what you mean. If she’s missing, she’s probably run off with the gardener or some groom, or—”
This time the blow sank him to his knees. Blood spurted from his mouth as, gasping, he fumbled for a handkerchief. “My t-tooth!” he sputtered. “You’ve knocked out my t-tooth!”
But Ethan Savage was already gone.
Colonel Hamring and Miss Perry were hovering by the stairway when he stalked in that direction.
“My lord, I don’t know what the trouble is, but if there is any way I can help...” Miss Perry eyed him worriedly.
Beside her the Colonel spoke gravely. “I’m at your service, Stonecliff.”
“You’ve both already been of help. You kept me from murdering that son of a bitch in front of hundreds of witnesses.”
He wheeled away from them and started down the stairs without another word.
Miss Perry raised anxious eyes to the Colonel’s face. He smiled down at her. “I’m certain everything will turn out for the best, my dear. At least I hope so. I like Stonecliff—and Lady Stonecliff, too.”
“She is the dearest friend I’ve ever had,” Miss Perry said quietly. “I wonder what has happened—and if there is some way I can help.”
“You heard him. And it’s quite true—you’ve already helped. If not for you, the situation might have become far worse. How brave you were to step up and speak to him when you did, Clara. Not many ladies I know would have dared approach a man in such a rage.”
“I only wished to avoid a scandal. That wouldn’t help either of them.”
“Very quick thinking, my dear.”
She blushed under his admiring scrutiny.
“I admire a woman who stands by her friends. Who is not afraid to act in their behalf. In the army, we learned the infinite value of loyalty, and how greatly it is to be cherished.”
The intermission was drawing to a close. All around them people in glittering finery were hurrying back to their boxes, and they could hear the expectant rustle and hush of the crowd.
Miss Perry smiled into his eyes. “Shouldn’t we be going back?”
“Yes... no.” Colonel Hamring found himself stammering for the first time since he was a very green young man, flustered at being summoned before
his commander for a minor infraction. This is not the time, he told himself, but as he regarded Miss Perry in the now deserted lobby of the Opera House, he found himself oddly compelled by the questioning sweetness in her eyes, the very light way she rested her hand upon his arm.
His dear wife had died nearly fifteen years ago, and he had thought never to remarry. But Clara Perry was such a sweet, comfortable woman—and mightily becoming as well. And she had unexpected backbone for one who appeared so dainty. Odd that he had never noticed her before in these many years—they attended many of the same balls and dinner parties, though she was always compelled to stand in the shadow of that whiny Miss Crenshaw.
She deserved a better life than having to be at the beck and call of that selfish miss, he thought, his chest puffing out a bit with indignation on her behalf as he recalled the condescending way Miss Crenshaw had treated Miss Perry throughout the first half of tonight’s performance.
He hesitated fractionally, regarding her as she waited for him to explain the delay. By God, she was a comfortable woman. Her image had popped into his mind countless times in the past few days—actually, ever since she had administered such anxious attention to him at Lady Tattersall’s home.
“We’ll go in if you wish,” he said, his voice trembling a bit with excitement at what he was about to do. “But first, my dear Miss Perry, there is something I wish to ask you.”
* * *
A downpour slickened the streets of Mayfair as Ethan slammed back into the house. It was nearly eleven o’clock. He waved away the footmen who hurried to help him with his sodden coat and hat, and stalked into his library. The news that Josie hadn’t returned held no surprise for him.
He splashed brandy into a glass and drank.
Where could she be? Was she hurt—frightened? What could have made her leave him?
The thought that she had wanted to leave, that this was part of some cruel plan presented itself to him once more. He finished the brandy and swung toward the window, staring past the heavy plum velvet draperies into the black, wet night.
For ten years he hadn’t believed in anyone or anything. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel, to care, to reach out—not to anyone, not since Molly. Not until now.
A tremendous weight seemed to press in upon him. He imagined Josie gathering up his mother’s jewels, hurrying into his room, scooping up his stickpins, the snuffbox, sneaking off like some thief into the night....
She isn’t a thief. She didn’t run off.
Ethan closed his eyes and searched for her with every particle of his being. If she was dead, he’d feel it. If she had run away, he’d know it. Wouldn’t he?
Sweating, he downed another brandy. He’d always relied on his instincts, and his instincts told him now that Josie was in trouble.
Bad trouble.
He slammed the glass down on the desk. He didn’t know where to look for her, but he couldn’t stay here another moment, warm and dry in this house while she was out there somewhere needing help.
He’d take the carriage and drive through every street in London if he had to. He’d start in Mayfair and branch out in gradually widening circles: the Strand, Trafalgar Square, Hyde Park, the Embankment. He’d search each area until—
The sound of crashing glass stopped him when he was halfway to the door.
He paused only an instant, and then sprinted forward.
“It came from upstairs,” he shouted as the servants came running, their faces shocked and pale. He was already gaining the top of the split marble staircase and racing down the hall, every sense alert.
“A rock! Gracious me, my lord...”
“There’s a note inside this pouch.” Ethan tore it open. Latherby’s gold ring tumbled out of the folded paper and landed on a shard of glass embedded in the carpet.
We’ve got her. You never should have offered that reward against us because now she’s going to die. Unless you bring 25,000 pounds to Blackfriars Bridge at midnight tomorrow. Don’t be late or she’ll pay the price.
There was no signature. Ethan’s hands clenched on the paper. Those bastards. He forced himself to keep the fury at bay, to concentrate on what he had to do to free Josie.
The letter had to be from Pirate Pete. Except that Ethan doubted either Pirate Pete or Tiny could read or write worth a damn—and the language of the note didn’t reflect the cockney speech either of them used.
So someone had written the note for him.
It doesn’t matter, he told himself as he stooped to pick up the gold ring. Turning it over and over in his fingers, he remembered how he’d balked at presenting the chestnut-haired pickpocket with his own ring to wear during their wedding ceremony, how he’d made Latherby hand over his ring instead. And now—now he would gladly give Josephine Cooper everything he possessed or ever might hope to possess.
No gift would be too much, no jewel too precious. She was the most precious treasure in his life.
The worried faces and voices of the servants swirled around him as he strode to his dressing room, tore off his finely tailored suit coat, and threw it on the floor. His mouth grim, he lifted his gunbelt from its hook. As he strapped on his guns, he struggled to take in the plot he had to contend with.
Josie’s life was at stake. And where in hell was Ham?
Then, as if summoned by the sheer intensity of Ethan’s will and need for him, there came a pounding at the front door, and even upstairs they could all faintly hear the low, gravelly voice raised in a frantic shout.
“Let me in, my lord. Ethan! Ethan, lad, let me in.”
Ethan was already halfway down the stairs.
“I know!” Ham announced as the door swung open. He stumbled inside, a picture of disrepute, his clothes torn and dirty and soaked, his boots laden with mud. But there was triumph in his eyes as Ethan eagerly gripped his arms. And as he looked at the man whom he’d mentored as a young boy, there was also devotion—and a burning, frightening urgency.
“I got away as soon as I could. Ran into some trouble...” His breath was coming in heaving gasps. “Don’t worry, lad, I’m fine, and so will she be if we hurry. But there’s no time to lose. I been following her all day, just like you wanted, and you were right about those bloody bastards coming for her. But not to fear, lad, not to fear. I know! I know where she is.”
Twenty-six
The thunder had begun by the time Snake and Spooner returned to the room with a tray of food and a tin cup filled with ale. They’d left Josie tied to the bedpost, where she’d been struggling in vain ever since, trying to unknot the thick rope.
“Give up, honey,” Snake advised, noting her flushed, disheveled appearance. Her hair hung into her face in damp tendrils, and the pretty gown she’d been wearing when they’d grabbed her was now hopelessly creased and wrinkled. “You ain’t getting away again. This time I’m going to watch you like a hawk.”
“Then I’ll just have to kill you, won’t I?” The words flew out before she thought, and she instantly regretted them for Snake’s eyes began to glitter.
“You back-talking me again, girl?”
Use your head, she told herself, and lifted her eyes to show him what she hoped was a cowed expression. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” she mumbled. “But...”
“But what?”
“My arm hurts, Snake. And I don’t feel so good.” She watched Spooner set the tray down on a broken table beside the bed. It held a bowl of thin-looking brownish soup and a crust of bread. Both looked disgusting.
“I never had any dinner tonight. And you know how I get when I’m hungry.” She tried to smile at him, hoping to pierce for an instant the armor of blustering pride and vengeance in which he’d encased himself.
“Then go ahead and eat your grub. Just quit complaining.”
The dangerous glitter had faded a bit, and his voice was only irritable, no longer angry.
“Can you untie me for a little while so I can eat? I can’t hardly get away with you and Spooner here.”
It took Spooner several moments to work her wrist free of the rope. “There you go, Josie,” he said almost apologetically.
Josie rubbed her raw flesh. She’d tried to watch how he’d defeated the knot, but had a sinking feeling it would be too difficult for her to manage one-handed. She’d have to find another way.
Forcing herself to spoon up several mouthfuls of the vile soup, and to chew the chunk of bread, she studied Snake and Spooner thoughtfully from beneath her lashes. Snake had sat himself down on the stool and was trimming his fingernails with his knife. Spooner paced restlessly, glancing out the window each time thunder split the rain-soaked night.
At last Snake noticed that she’d finished eating and was simply sitting on the cot, cradling the ale cup between both hands and quietly surveying the dirty confines of the room.
He slipped his knife back in his pocket and stood, glowering at her. The din coming from downstairs in the gin house grew louder between rumbles of thunder.
“What are you up to, girl? Whatever it is, it won’t work.”
“I just... got a cramp in my legs. Before you tie me up again, can I just walk across the room, loosen up my muscles?”
Snake reached her in two strides. “Sure, honey,” he sneered. “So long as I’m holding on to you.”
Spooner backed away from the window, saying nothing as Snake slipped a heavy arm around Josie’s waist. She teetered across the small room, toward the window. There wasn’t much she could see in the inky night with all that rain slashing down. She thought she could just make out a maze of crumbling buildings and twisting alleyways, but she wasn’t sure.
“Forget it.” Snake’s arm tightened around her waist. He spun her to face him, his breath hot in her face. “I know you’re getting the lay of the land, thinking where you’d run if you had the chance. You’re not going nowhere. You hear? We’ve got to settle our score, you and me. So you’re staying put, right here in my arms where you belong.”