by Heather Boyd
She heaved a sigh as she stepped out into the rear gardens. It was quiet out here. Peaceful. A temporary reprieve from the demands of the world. She wove her way through the kitchen gardens, amused with the gaping holes in the earth. Cook must have unearthed her favorite herbs that could be transplanted with ease to Oscar’s kitchen garden. But the holes worried her. Arthur might get his nose more out of joint that it already would be over the loss of his London servants. He loved order as much as her grandfather had. So, seeing a shovel left lying carelessly on the ground, she picked it up and refilled the holes.
She patted the soil down hard with the back of the shovel then leaned upon it as she gazed around. She had spent most of her life here in this house, in the very tiny garden, and although she was only moving one house away, she would miss it very much indeed.
Agatha carried the shovel to the edge of the garden and set it against the wall where it would be out of the way. No one would stumble upon it here in the corner where she’d once dreamed pixies lived. A rambling vine grew over a sturdy frame, and she smiled at the memory of how often she’d played beneath it, thinking she’d be hidden from everyone’s sight.
But she knew now that invisibility was impossible. Her grandfather had watched over her even when she’d thought he’d been occupied elsewhere. He’d had eyes in the back of his head, he’d said at her surprise.
Agatha quickly wiped a tear away. She couldn’t keep crying like this. Her grandfather was gone and no amount of tears would bring him back.
He would hate to think of her so sad.
She had to let go of the past and face the future.
Agatha looked up at the house then shifted her gaze to Oscar’s rear windows. He stood at one, watching her reminisce, worry creasing his features. Agatha raised her hand, and when he waved back, her heart gave a happy flutter. Soon they would be married and after her mourning period was over, and society forgave them, they would settle into a comfortable life together in London. Would society accept their marriage?
She would hate it if Oscar came to regret his decision.
A scrape of sound turned her around. She peered at the rear garden, but couldn’t detect any sign of company. But the rear gate hung open, just enough that a passing scoundrel with thievery in mind might peek inside and find something useful to steal. Even though this was no longer her home, she didn’t like the idea of strangers in Arthur’s home. He might be ashamed of her, but she’d never wish him ill. He had enough trouble with his shrew of a wife. Elizabeth Birkenstock would have been the one to convince Arthur to disown her.
Agatha rushed toward the gate to close it for the last time. As she set her hand to the open gate, a dirty hand closed over her wrist and she was wrenched through it. Stunned, before she could even scream out a protest, she was tossed over a broad shoulder and carried off down the lane.
Behind her, glass shattered as Oscar called her name. Agatha struggled and fought, but the hands holding her were merciless. As she drew in a deep breath to scream loudly for help, her captors threw her into a darkened carriage. Her head hit the wooden side hard.
Lights danced before her eyes. Stunned, she made no greater sound than a moan. The carriage lurched forward and picked up speed. Without breath, head spinning in pain, she couldn’t cry out more than a whimper. Agatha scrambled frantically, but there was no escape. Her hands and feet were bound, and before she could yell, a cloth was pressed over her mouth and tied around her head.
She couldn’t make a sound but to whimper.
Once her eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the carriage interior, she whimpered again. Toothless, her attacker from the park, grinned at her. “Pretty missy,” he said.
By daylight, he looked infinitely worse. His slack mouth gaped, his bent nose dripped, and his skin was coated in dark grime. Not even a thorough dunking in the Thames would make much difference.
The carriage turned a sharp corner, and she was thrown hard against the other man. She turned to get a glimpse of him and shrank back as soon as she had. He was huge. As big as the villain that had attacked her in the park last time. He leered at her, then his gaze moved on to his partner.
Agatha shivered in fear. She’d never get away from them. Not unless Oscar ran faster than any living man.
The brute caught Toothless by his shirt and hauled him close. “Now remember, no touchin this time. Were gettin hard coin, and we isn’t allowed to muss up the merchandise. They want her undamaged.”
Toothless gasped for breath. But when he was released, his hand darted out and snatched Agatha’s gold cross from her neck. The replacement that Oscar had given her dangled before her eyes a moment, then he slipped the precious possession into his pocket.
The brute cuffed him across the jaw. “Better not’ve put a mark on her neck or I’ll give ya hell for reducin our profit. They want her presentable. Figure they got men lining up for a new thing to poke at.”
Toothless laughed soundlessly, his hand covered his groin, and he crudely rubbed himself. Agatha closed her eyes. Why?
Why her?
Why now?
But she had no answers, unless all of society had turned against her to save Oscar from her clutches. If she was gone, he’d be free and could reclaim his place in society. He could even marry Lady Penelope, if she’d still have him, and be free of scandal.
The carriage slowed and turned into a side street. It was dark here and stank of things she’d rather not know about. They moved at a snail’s pace then stopped. Agatha shivered from the chill seeping into her bones. What now?
The carriage groaned as the brute lumbered out. He turned, caught her bound hands, and wrenched her toward him. Agatha tried to peer past him to determine where they were taking her. Desperately, she hoped she could escape. She had to try. But when the brute tossed her over his shoulder again, her head hit the alley wall and she saw nothing else.
~ * ~
Oscar cradled his bleeding hand against his chest as he limped back toward home. He’d lost Agatha. Despite his best efforts, the carriage had been too quick, the drop from the first floor had stunned him, and by the time he’d reached the lane entrance Agatha’s carriage was at the end of the street. He’d run as hard as he could, yet he’d still lost sight of them within two streets.
He was going to punish whoever was responsible for taking Agatha from him. He would not rest until she was safe again and those responsible had paid with their lives.
He limped into his house to find it in a greater uproar than when he’d left.
His father had arrived, and so had his mother. He’d hoped Lynton would call not an hour ago, but right now the sight of his father and mother were not helpful in the least.
His mother cried out at the sight of his bloody hand, her hand at her throat.
Lynton hurried forward. “For Heaven’s sake, boy. I leave you alone for a few days to conclude my business, and you get into a huff and smash windows. What’s gotten into you?”
Oscar winced as his father pried his hand from his chest to inspect it. “My hand is nothing. Agatha has been taken.”
They both clutched at his arms. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know.” Oscar moved his fingers to check his hand still functioned the way it should. “I think it was the same ruffians that accosted her in the park last week. They were quicker than last week, and better prepared. Had a carriage ready in the lane this time. I couldn’t keep up.”
Lynton turned his hand over carefully. “Essy, lean against the wall like a good girl before you faint.”
For a change, his mother didn’t argue.
Lynton met his gaze. Concern and worry clouded his features. “This isn’t too bad, but it will need to be cleaned and bound to prevent infection.”
Oscar shook his head. “As long as I can still shoot, it can wait. Then, once I have Agatha back and safe again, you can do whatever you like with it.”
Without waiting to see if he agreed, Oscar strode to his bookroom. He needed
his pistols and to decide what to do. He couldn’t do that with his father fussing and his mother about to faint from the sight of blood at any moment.
He wrenched open the drawer that contained them and inspected them carefully. Primed and ready to fire. Thank heavens.
Lynton hurried toward him. “What the hell are you doing with them? Put them down.”
He stared at his father and shrugged. “I intend to get my Agatha back by any means necessary. If I have to murder someone again, I certainly will not hesitate.”
“Murder?” His father’s eyes grew wide. “For God’s sake shut your mouth. You’re not thinking clearly.”
Oscar ignored the warning. He was thinking clearly. He was attempting to remember every detail from when Agatha put her hand on the gate until he’d lost sight of the carriage. Two men inside with her, another two whipping on the dark carriage, but no crest or identification of any kind on the doors. All he had to go on was that skinny, toothless fellow and his burly companion. Would such a filthy combination be easy to find?
“What the devil is going on? Why is he bleeding? Redding get in here!” The Duke of Staines hurried forward and pushed his brother aside to make way for his servant.
Although Oscar would much rather be on his way, he let Redding inspect the wound. Could Staines help him? The duke was known to have his fingers in many pies of the unsavory variety. Perhaps he could be useful.
Redding demanded supplies to dress the wound, but George, who’d hovered nervously behind the Duke of Staines when he’d first arrived, had them already.
Redding nodded his thanks. “This will sting, my lord.”
Oscar gritted his teeth as brandy was poured over the wounds. The pain amplified his anger. He would make them suffer if one hair on Agatha’s head was harmed.
Staines set his hands on his hips. “I have yet to hear an explanation.”
Oscar scowled. “Someone has taken my future wife. Agatha was abducted not thirty minutes ago.”
Staines drew closer, peering over his servant’s shoulder, his hand resting lightly on Redding’s back. “Be as quick as you can, Redding. We’ll need your expertise to find her before any harm is done.”
Redding nodded, but ignored his master’s lingering touch while he cleansed the wound and then checked for embedded glass shards.
When he was done, Oscar flexed his fingers a bit. There was some pain, but the firm bandage helped. “Thank you.”
Redding met his gaze. “Everything you remember. From the beginning, my lord.”
So Oscar told them everything he remembered, and when pressed, about the first attempt in the park. When he was done, he glanced between Redding and his new uncle. But they moved aside to confer in private.
His mother approached him and laid her hands over his uninjured arm. “So brave, my Oscar. You should have told me.”
“Not brave, Mother. Utterly desperate. I couldn’t bear to lose Agatha then, and I certainly cannot now.” He kissed her brow. “Excuse me, I must go.”
“Be careful. Bring her back safe, and send word to me here if you are delayed.”
“I will.” Oscar untangled himself from her embrace, tucked his pistols into his coat pockets, and approached his uncle. “I’m ready.”
“As am I,” his father agreed.
Staines looked at his brother. “You stay here in case our girl finds her way home. Keep Essy calm if you can.”
“But . . . “
“No buts.” Staines clapped Oscar on the back. “Redding has an inkling, and his inklings are surprisingly accurate. Come on. We have a bawdy house to wage war on.”
“Damn it,” Lynton argued. “Stop mollycoddling me. I’m not a child.”
Staines approached his brother and set his hands on his tense shoulders. “No, you are still a man of God, and as such you should not be put in a position to fire upon someone, should such an action be required. You have no experience with any of that, and I’d rather keep it that way. I may not have agreed with your choice of profession, but I envy you your pure heart. If it helps, you can sermonize at me later as much as you want. We three can manage and do what becomes necessary.”
“Despite them taking Agatha, I fear this has something to do with Oscar.” Lynton clutched his brother’s arm. “He could be in danger, too.”
“Oh,” his mother moaned, as she tumbled to the ground in a faint.
Lynton rushed to her side and pulled her into a sitting position on the floor.
Staines pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now why did you have to say that out loud? I thought you had better sense.”
“Oh, do shut up,” Lynton grumbled as he swept his fingers over her cheek until her eyes fluttered open. She met his gaze and a tender smile turned up her lips. Seeing his mother in Lynton’s arms seemed right. She’d certainly been lucky in love to have Lynton’s continuing devotion. They could do very well together. Lynton only needed time to plead his case. But he couldn’t do that if Oscar placed him in danger pursuing Agatha’s abductors.
He walked out, but heard his new uncle quite clearly. “Brother, do look after dear Essy for us. I’m sure you can still work your charm to make her forget her troubles. We’ll be back before you know it, so don’t get too carried away. Oh, here, I arranged for two special licenses—not just one as you requested. Do be a good fellow and make the loss of six cases of my finest brandy worthwhile. I do love double weddings.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“COME AWAY FROM the window, Essy. It is far too soon for any news.”
Although Lynton was right, Estella didn’t want to leave the window. Not when a special license for them to marry rested nearby. Staines, that meddling old fool, had gone too far this time. She wasn’t about to marry Lynton just because the duke demanded it, or because he’d made it incredibly easy to do. The Duke of Staines failed to understand that she was in mourning for Thomas. She had not meant to find comfort in Lynton’s arms after she’d fainted. Staines had misunderstood their familiarity and leapt to the wrong conclusion.
Besides, given the scandal’s embroiling her family, Lynton should wish to be miles away from them. What was he doing here now? He hadn’t been interested in speaking with either her son or her at Thomas’ funeral. That public slight would give more credence to the stories told by wagging tongues. If not for Staines’ order, would he have slunk away already?
“I cannot help but worry about my son and Agatha.”
Lynton sighed loudly. “We both worry, but Oscar has Staines and Redding with him. He is in good hands. Redding will protect them both and bring Agatha home again very soon. He has unlimited sources in the city. He’ll find her as quick as he can.”
Estella hugged herself. “Why does Staines keep such a man with him? If Redding is as dangerous as you let on, then should he be with my son?”
“Redding is a fine man, a perfect match for my wild brother. He keeps him in line and keeps those who would exploit him at bay. You don’t want to cross Redding. He almost died once to save my brother from harm. Staines rescued him in return and has had Redding as his shadow ever since.”
Estella nodded. That did explain Redding’s near constant presence behind the duke. “I’d not heard of that incident. Your brother is very lucky.”
“It was years ago, just after I’d taken orders. Redding has my eternal gratitude for keeping my brother at least partially respectable all these years.” He chuckled suddenly. “The quirk of Redding’s eyebrow can squash one of my brother’s mad schemes better than any sermon I could deliver. I rest easy knowing he is there.”
Estella bit her lip. She longed to ask Lynton a question about the earlier conversation, but worried he might take offense once the disturbing subject came up. She didn’t want to wait for news alone, but Oscar’s mention of murder worried her. He seemed—very little like the son she’d raised today. Yet if she discussed the matter with Lynton, she’d get an idea if he had any intention of forging a closer friendship with her son and whether h
e would be a continuing presence in her life. Oscar had seemed to take the revelation in his stride, but Estella found the notion of having made love to Lynton an uneasy one.
She took a deep breath, prepared to be abandoned at any moment. “Did you catch, by any chance, Oscar’s mention of murder?”
Lynton stood and approached. Her skin prickled as he closed the gap between them until he rested inches from her back. “Staines told me yesterday about an unfortunate incident involving Oscar. I take it that the boy has not confided in you?”
Estella shook her head, panicked that her son should be a murderer.
Lynton sighed, ruffling the hair at her nape with his breath. She shivered. “Redding uncovered a recent incident involving Oscar, Lord Daventry, and his new wife. Although you may not like it our . . . our son did a very brave thing. Do you want the details?”
Estella’s heart raced. No wonder Oscar was so thick with Daventry this season. “He will tell me when he is ready, but I appreciate you reassuring me. He’s been so black in his moods lately that I didn’t know what to think.”
Lynton’s hand settled on her arm and stroked over her skin lightly. “He’s had a lot to reconcile, I imagine. He wouldn’t be the man he is if he could take a life without contemplation.”
“And today?” Estella shuddered. “If any harm comes to Agatha, I don’t know what he’ll do. Did you see his expression? He frightened me, Lynton.”
Lynton set his arms about her. “Shh. He is still the same boy you raised.”
Although she should resist him, his embrace comforted her more than she could let on. The warmth of him seeped through her gown and warmed her. She laid her hands on his encircling arms and allowed him to weave their fingers together.
“I should apologize for my brother again.”
Estella waited for him to continue, but he said nothing more. His breath puffed across her ear lightly, and a tingling of desire curled within her. Again, she should fight her attraction to Lynton Manning. But it was hard to do when he was so quiet about his seductions.