The Dream

by Jaycee Clark

  Rayne smiled. “We’ll find out.”

  Movement in the doorway drew Jason’s attention. Emily’s grandmother stood talking to Aunt Elsie and both looked distraught.

  His gut twisted. Jason rose and hurried across the room to her. “Madam?”

  “Where is Emily?” Lady Redgrave asked.

  The prickle along the back of his neck all but stung. “What do you mean, where is she?”

  “You had a message for her and she never met up with me. Why you insisted on privacy is beyond me,” she huffed.

  “What are you talking about?”

  She stepped back, her hand going to her throat. “The footman delivered a message to Emily from you.”

  The hell he had. “Which footman?”

  She glanced around, ran her gaze this way, then that. Across the ballroom, she pointed one out. “That one. That one over there by the potted palm.”

  Chills raced through him as he all but shoved her out of the way. He didn’t care who saw, he tore across the room, dancers scattering in his wake.

  He reached out and grabbed the footman by the lapels of his livery.

  “What message did you give my wife?” He slammed him up against the wall.

  The man paled, his head bobbed.

  Someone put their hand on his shoulder. He didn’t turn to see who it was.

  “What did you tell her?” he asked, low and furious, feeling the reins on his control slipping.

  “Ravensworth,” Kollerton said.

  “Jase, people are staring,” Rayne warned.

  “I don’t give a bloody damn,” he bit out, his hold on the man tightening, his eyes not wavering from the servant’s gray ones.

  “To m-m-meet you-you ou-out on the terrace,” the man squeaked.

  “Which terrace?” he asked.

  The man swallowed. “The-the-the gar-garden one.”

  Jason dropped the man and hurried across the ballroom, pushing people out of his way. He could hear the whispers building.

  He had to get to her. He had to. He’d promised to keep her safe.

  Cold night air washed over him, but the terrace was empty.

  “No!” He hit the terrace wall with his fist. “Emily!” he snapped. “Emmaline, answer me.” He hurried down the stone steps looking one way then the other. Shadows cloaked the garden and nothing moved. Rayne was right on his heels. The path led to the garden gate, and the alley beyond.

  A deep foreboding filled him, made it hard to breathe. He strode along the graveled path, studying everything as he’d been trained to do.

  At the gate, he saw the glove lying just outside in the alley, the broken branches of ivy held strands of hair.

  He snatched up the glove. Burgundy silk. Emmy.

  Fear fisted a hand around his heart in a tight grasp. “Damn it. No.”

  He took off down the alleyway, wondering which way they went. Where they were. Thoughts jumbled in his mind and he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the fact he let her down.

  He’d sworn to keep her safe, to keep her away from this madman.

  A hand on his shoulder spun him around. He almost lost his balance and went down. He came up swinging.

  “Damn it, Jase. Stop it,” Rayne said, out of breath.

  Jason realized they were a block away from the alley. He didn’t remember running this far.

  “Stop for a bloody minute. Calm down, we need to think.”

  Jason grabbed him. “He’s got her, Rayne. He’s got Emmy. Don’t tell me to calm down.”

  Rayne’s hands came up, palms out. “Fine, I won’t tell you that. Could you set me the hell down?”

  For a moment the two of them glared at each other. Finally, Jason let go, turned and stalked back down the alley to the Kollerton’s. Sheldon met them at the gate.

  “There’s a man here to see you, Ravensworth. He’s in the study.”

  Jason hurried with him, met Lord Kollerton at the terrace. He strode past the curious onlookers without so much as a glance in their direction.

  “I want to know everything about the carriages in that alley tonight,” he said to Sheldon.

  Those blue-ice eyes narrowed. “I’ll find out for you.”

  He followed Lord Kollerton to the man’s study. “This man is here to see you.”

  Lockley stood with a bandage pressed to his head. “My lord.” His complexion was ashen.

  The bottom dropped out of Jason’s stomach. Home. Joy. Oh, God.

  “You’ve got to come home, immediately,” Lockley said.

  Jason made his feet move across the floor. “What happened?”

  He felt Rayne standing next to him and knew that Kollerton, Sheldon and some other men were also in the room.

  Lockley trembled. “He got in, my lord. The blood. God, the blood.” Lockley looked down and swayed.

  Jason reached out. “Joy.” He swallowed.

  Lockley’s gaze rose to his and in those eyes, Jason knew true panic.

  “No,” he strangled out.

  Blood. Joy.

  “No!” he repeated.

  Lockley swallowed, tears in his aged eyes. “We can’t find her. Looked everywhere.”

  The rage he’d been holding at bay, roared to life, engulfing even the helpless fear. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. He fisted his hands, flexed his fingers. Fisted them again.

  “Jase.”

  Without a word, he turned and strode from the room. His footfalls echoing against the roar in his ears. The faces a blur, a haze around him.

  “Jason, wait.”

  He kept going.

  “Jason!” Rayne caught up with him.

  He didn’t say a word, couldn’t even if he had wanted to.

  Damn it all to hell and back. He’d failed in the one and only thing he’d ever sworn to her. He’d keep her safe. Keep their daughter safe. The sharp fangs of terror sank deep into his chest.

  “I’ll call for the carriage,” Rayne muttered, hurrying out ahead of Jason.

  “Where do I send any information?” Sheldon asked, striding along side him.

  The question made him pause. He blinked, tried to think. “I don’t know. My house, I suppose. I don’t know.”

  Sheldon nodded. “I’ll get in touch with you later.”

  Lord Kollerton stepped up. “Ravensworth, if there is anything we can do.”

  Jason shook his head, but said, “Help me find my wife and daughter.”

  * * * * *

  Theodore watched the woman across from him in the low lights that drifted in from outside.

  She’d changed little, was still beautiful. Too beautiful. Her beauty was the curse of the wicked. The outer shell deceived those to what lay within.

  Her back was straight and she looked down at her lap, as he’d taught her to do.

  Was she trying to please him or plotting to escape?

  “Why did you give my child and lands away?” he asked, the anger eating at him.

  She jerked.

  Good.

  “I-I— They told me you were dead. Killed in an Indian raid on the fort,” she said, her voice low and soft. “I couldn’t handle both farms by myself. It was too much, Theodore.” She gulped. “I tried. I did.”

  But he knew it was an act.

  He eased forward on his cushion and tilted her chin up. “I’ve a surprise for you, wife. We’ll be in at an inn for a bit, but then we’re sailing with the morning tide.”

  Her face paled. “Sailing?”

  He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Sailing. Yes.”

  “Where?” she asked.

  He studied her, saw the snakes slithering behind her eyes.

  “Where?” he shouted in her face. “Why would you want to know? So that you could let your lover know?” He struck her across the face. Once, twice, three times until she whimpered.

  He jutted his jaw out, then back in. About time she remembered who ruled their home and who the master, the only master, would ever be between them. God sa
w to it that he’d found her, brought her back, and he’d make certain she remembered her place.

  Yes, he was in the right.

  Her hand held the side of her face, her hair, fallen covered her from him.

  That harlot’s hair. He should cut it. It had always been a vain point for her, and vanity was not a virtue in anyone, let alone a woman.

  He fisted it in his hand, wrapping it around and around. “I think the first thing I’ll do is cut this mass of wantonness.”

  Her eyes wouldn’t meet his and he heard her sniff.

  The carriage finally pulled to a stop. The stench from the Thames filled the air, fish from the market, gone sour during the day, and too many people living in squalor melded into the perfume of the slums.

  He reached under his seat and pulled out the tattered brown, woolen cloak he’d stuffed there earlier. It still had demons’ blood on it. But she was a whore of Satan, so it really shouldn’t matter, should it?

  Or would the blood taint her further?

  The driver shouted down. “Ye’re ‘ere, cove. Times a wastin’ and I’s gots other blokes to carry ‘round.”

  Theodore decided it was better for her to use the bloody cloak to cover that slut gown she had on, than to worry about the evilness infecting her. After all, she was already lost.

  “Put this on,” he ordered. “And hurry up. The sinners here will as soon rob us once they see you in your wicked clothing.”

  He opened the door and climbed out. After several moments, he snapped, “Get out.”

  Her pale hand trembled as she reached for the doorframe of the carriage. Theodore reached up and jerked her down.

  “Where is your glove?” he asked, pulling her with him.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Your glove. You don’t have one on.”

  He watched her lick her lips. “I don’t know. I don’t. I was taking them off when I met you on the terrace. I-I-I must have dropped it.”

  In the dank and dreary street, he pulled her close to him. From the light of the tavern, he could see her face was already swelling. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and from her nose and there was a cut across her cheek. Good.

  “You’re lying. You remember what happens when you lie, Rebeckah?” He pulled her with him. Past Fish Head’s Tavern, down the street to The Cuckold Inn.

  She pulled on his hand. “Please, Theodore.”

  He jerked. “Appropriate, isn’t it?” Making certain she was covered with the ugly old cloak, he opened the door, stepping aside as a man staggered out of the door, a woman, almost bare-breasted clung to his arm.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon,” the woman muttered, grazing his arm with her ample bosom.

  “Be gone, whore!”

  The other man bowed up. “Watch yer moush, ‘ister. Wister… Mister!”

  Drunks and sluts abounded. It was like glimpsing into the gates of Hell.

  He pulled Rebeckah along with him, past the common room, up the rickety stairs to the room he’d rented. He only needed to pack and see to her. They’d be leaving in a few hours anyway.

  The door shuddered when he slammed it. The walls would be thin, but then, women often screamed in this part of London and no one ran to help them. He was counting on that to hold true.

  Interruption would be a hindrance he would not tolerate.

  “First thing,” he growled, spinning her around, “is to get these wicked clothes off of you. A woman shall dress with modesty.” He ripped the cloak aside, her pale breasts plumped against the top ruffle.

  “Whore.” He slapped her again, anger raging through him. The black wings descended. The demons were here. He would save her. He grabbed the middle of the gown and ripped it off her. He would save her.

  “Theodore. Please.” Her hands came up to ward him off. “Wait. Just let me explain.”

  * * * * *

  Jason didn’t wait for the carriage to stop, but jumped to the street as it pulled up in front of his town house.

  The place was ablaze with lights.

  Men in the watch uniform stood outside, neighbors loitered about. Jason shoved through the crowd and took the stairs two at a time into the house.

  “My lord!” Summerton yelled, coming to him. Jason spared him a glance, noticed the white bandage around his head and the man standing beside his butler—Sir Taber.

  “What the hell happened?” Jason barked, heading to the staircase. She had to be here, she simply had to. He couldn’t have gotten her.

  “Lockley and I heard a noise, went to investigate and he was waiting for us. Felt something bash into my head and the next thing I knew, one of the men you hired was cutting us free.”

  Jason hit the landing and ran to the next staircase.

  “My lord,” Summerton huffed, trying to keep up. “We’ve searched for Miss Joy, but we can’t find her.”

  At the nursery he stopped. The smell of death was one he was all too familiar with. Battlefields had been littered with the dead and dying. He’d stood on the bow of ships awash in blood. Yet, all that did not prepare him for what he saw.

  Blood splattered across the pastel silks and walls, dark and speckled. A white sheet draped over a figure on the floor. He strode to it and flipped the edge back. Franny. The nurse lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, to this side of Joy’s bed. A dark stain spread across the carpet and hardwood floors. He didn’t need to ask how she died. He could see the gash across her neck.

  “Lord Ravensworth,” one of the men he’d hired came forward. Markus.

  Jason skewered him with a gaze. “What the bloody hell happened?”

  Markus shrugged. “We found Tim and Roby dead out in the alley. Tim was stabbed in the back. Roby had his throat worked over, he did. Bastard.”

  Jason scanned the room. “Joy!”

  The other man shook his head. “Looked everywhere, we ‘ave. Don’t know what ‘appened to her. We heard the woman screaming. Jack decided to have a look in the ‘ouse cause he didn’t feel right. I stayed out front. By the time I ‘it the stairs, I ’eard the gunshot.”

  “Gunshot?”

  Summerton supplied, “Your dueling pistols are gone, my lord.”

  Jason shook his head, raked his trembling hand through his hair. He noticed Rayne stood in the doorway, his jaw tight, his face grim. Sir Taber’s expression mirrored his friend’s.

  “When I got ‘ere, the man was screaming about demons and was out on the ledge. I told him we’d find him, we would.”

  Jason stepped closer to Markus’ man, who was short and built like a barrel. “Did he have my daughter?” he choked over the words.

  Markus shook his bald head. “No, sir. I saw the pistols in his waistband, saw a knife in his hand, but no Miss Joy. I’ve checked all over the grounds, afeared he’d tossed her to the ground.”

  The words iced his blood. “What?”

  Markus stepped back. “But there was no trace of her.”

  He turned to Summerton. The man didn’t need to be asked.

  “We’ve searched all the rooms, all the armoires, under all the beds, all the closets.”

  Jason took a deep breath, filled with death and mayhem. She had to be here.

  “Joy!” They might have checked but he’d check again.

  “What about One Hand Jack?” he asked.

  Markus cleared his throat. “He’s downstairs. Doc says he thinks he’ll make it. Took a ball through his side, but didn’t seem to do no damage, like.”

  Jason stopped as he crossed the room.

  Jack was Joy’s favorite. If he were here, he must have tried to stop something. He glanced at the poor young girl, now dead for no reason than some madman’s musings.

  So did Jack try to stop the man from killing Franny? Probably. But why the nursery if not for Joy, who the man thought was his?

  He came up here to get Joy, Jason would bet his life on it. But Theodore had not left with her. Franny was by Joy’s bed, which meant Franny had either run across the room from her own or
she’d already been here, and if she were already here…

  “Joy!” He strode to the armoire and ripped through the boxes and clothes.

  “We’ve checked, my lord,” Summerton stammered.

  “Then we’ll bloody well check again.” Emmy was out there too. What the hell did he do? His hands shook as he tore bedding out of trunk.

  “Joy!”

  He looked at Rayne and Taber. “Start with this floor. Check every damn cupboard, every nook and cranny and…”

  Every nook and cranny…

  Jason dropped the material in his hand and tore across the room, to the alcove of dolls. At the wainscoting, he tried to remember which panel swung open. “Joy!”

  Rayne was beside him. “Damn me, I’d forgotten about that space.”

  The two of them had played there as children. “Yes but how the hell did we get it open?” Jason asked, running his fingers along the wood.

  Jason looked down and saw a blood stain on the floor, his heart slammed against his ribs.

  “Where was Jack?” he asked, hoping, praying he were right.

  “Just there, yer lordship.” Markus said, squatting next to them.

  Summerton was pale. “I never thought to check… I’d forgotten all about.” His voice trembled.

  “The doctor thinks Jack will live? Is he awake?” Jason asked.

  “No,” Markus answered. “Mumbling about ‘oles and caves, ’e was. Then he passed out and didn’t wake back up.”

  There. “Finally.”

  He pressed the button in the corner of the panel, hidden in the curled carving of wood.

  A piece of the wall slid back to reveal the dark space within.

  “Joy?” Jason asked, looking in. “Bring me a candle.”

  Someone handed it to him. He held it up and crawled through the space. It was dark and the smell of blood tinged the air.

  “Joy?”

  His heartbeat filled his head.

  He scanned one wall, to his right, then his left. A flash of white caught his attention, just beyond his candlelight. He scooted in further and brought the candle with him.

  Relief slammed through him at the sight of his daughter curled up in the far corner of the crawl space, a doll clutched to her. All he could see was her dark hair and white gown.

  “Joy? Poppet?” He turned and shoved the candle back to Rayne. “Here hold this up for me.” Then he crawled across the floor until he reached his daughter.