Somewhat reassured, Sarah was also confused. "You are referring to the conspiracy to bomb Westminster Abbey during the queen's jubilee thanksgiving service?"
"That's the one."
"But if you're not involved in that, then why am I here? What's going on? Why am I tied up?"
"Well..." He stood and backed away from her, the ease in his manner fading. "The truth is, my darling, while I'm not involved in the Fenian conspiracy, I do have a bombing plot of my own."
Sarah's stomach dropped and rolled around some more. "Now I'm totally befuddled. Didn't you just say you don't condone killing?"
"Killing is not required to make a political statement, Sarah. The Fenians want to bring down a government. I want to get the government's attention. Times have changed, and the aristocracy refuses to change with it. Primogeniture is a barbaric system that has brought heartache and despair to many a family. Why should birth order determine the worthiness of a man, I ask? Why should younger sons be forced to leave their home, family, and country to seek their fortune?
"It's hard to leave one's home, Sarah. To go a stranger to a strange land, especially when one has been trained to idleness and sport, not the skills needed to work. Knowledge of Cicero and Caesar doesn't help a man survive a Montana blizzard. Knowing how to command a coach and four won't help bake a loaf of bread to keep yourself from starving."
"Oh, Trevor. What are you planning?"
"The inheritance laws in this country must be changed. Parliament is the only one who can change them. I intend to get Parliament's attention in such a manner they'll never forget. I have taken the Fenians' plan and given it my own special twist. It's quite clever, I must admit. Some might say diabolically clever. Imagine, if you will, Sarah, the scene in Westminster Abbey at the jubilee service. Every peer in the realm will be there. Every eldest son in his velvet and ermine coronation robes passed down through generations with their precious titles. Think of all the satins and silks." A maniacal light entered his eyes as his gaze slid toward the cages. A soft laugh escaped him.
Recognition of his intentions burst in Sarah's brain like a bomb. A particularly malodorous explosion.
Trevor Chambers intended to turn his skunks loose in Westminster Abbey during Queen Victoria's thanksgiving service.
"Oh my heavens."
"Yes. It will cause quite a stink, won't it?"
* * *
Within an hour, Nick had thirty men on the job with the prospect of twice that many more on the way. The plan was to begin in the West End at the spot of the abduction and stop every four-wheeler and hansom cab on the street. Drivers were asked whether they had either seen or transported a pair matching the description of Sarah or Lord Chambers. Men were assigned to search every spot Chambers had been known to visit since his return to London. Others were charged with the task of interviewing every family member, friend, servant, and acquaintance in any way connected with Trevor Chambers. Word was put out on the street that the Marquess of Weston was offering a significant reward for information that led to the rescue of his wife.
Once the rush of making the initial arrangements had passed, time dragged like a slug for Nick. He paced his study, pausing to set the old, yellowed globe of the world slowly spinning as if that would make time pass faster. Seated around his desk, the McBride brothers spoke in low tones with the newly arrived Lord Kimball, informing him of the status of the search.
Suddenly Nick couldn't bear to stay at home and wait for news another moment. He slapped the surface of the globe, sending it whirling. "I'll be helping the men at the intersection of Regent and Bond. Send word to me there if you hear anything at all."
With that, he strode from the room and out of the house. He was descending the broad stone steps of the portico when he heard the sound of footsteps in pursuit. At the half landing, he glanced back to see his sisters with the McBride girls hot on their heels. "Can we come with you, Nicholas?" Melanie asked.
"Isn't there something we can do?" Maribeth McBride added.
"Pray," he told them. "Stay here where you're safe and where I needn't worry about you, and pray for Sarah's safety. Please?"
They protested mildly but agreed with his request. Nick then spent the next four hours stopping cabs, asking questions, then handing over a calling card for the drivers to display to signify they already had been questioned.
With each hour that passed, he grew just a little more desperate. Then finally, as church bells rang half past the hour of three, he heard a voice call his name. "Weston. Hurry. We have a lead."
* * *
Tied, gagged, propped against a wooden crate, and facing two occupied skunk cages, Sarah sat fuming. And praying that didn't prove to be a poor choice of words.
She was almost afraid to move. Before he'd left the warehouse, Trevor had given her a quick review of how to coexist peacefully with the little mammals. "You might know this already, since you're a Texas girl, but just in case, remember that skunks demand respect. They won't spray unless they're feeling threatened, so as long as you're quiet and still, you should not be bothered by them. If one of them should stomp his feet and turn his back to you, you're in trouble. By the time he raises his tail and glances back over his shoulder, it's too late."
Because Sarah had no intention of causing it to become "too late," she moved as little as possible while she was left alone. When sometime later a door opened, then banged shut, it was all she could do not to shush whoever came inside.
"Whoever" turned out to be Trevor, returned with a mattress, a dressing screen, a chamber pot, blankets, and a picnic basket. The blankets he draped over the cages as a measure of protection. According to Trevor, the skunks were less likely to spray if they didn't see the threat.
He arranged the items in a makeshift bedroom complete with a bud vase and a fragrant red rose which he placed atop a small crate beside the mattress. From the warehouse itself he unearthed a rug, a pair of chairs, and a set of fine Irish bed linens. Finally, he resettled Sarah into a chair and, after cautioning her to quiet, removed the gag from her mouth and the bindings from her wrists and ankles. He added a further caution against attempting an escape. As soon as she had sipped the water he offered, she said, "Trevor, you cannot get away with this. You must release me."
He ignored her, saying, "I brought cold meats and cheeses for dinner. I know you missed lunch and must be quite hungry. I apologize for the accommodations, and I assure you that I'll do everything within my power to afford you comfort. You'll be pleased to know I've identified another place for us to sleep tonight. We will need to wait until dark to go there, however, but that shouldn't be a problem. The skunks are nocturnal, so they are not particularly active until those hours."
At this point, certain he wouldn't hurt her, Sarah was more angry than afraid. She tried again, "Nick will find me. He'll know that you are behind my disappearance, and he'll track us down. He was an intelligence agent, Trevor. He is already working with the head of a Special Branch of the Metropolitan Police, plus he has an unlimited source of funds. You'll never evade him for a month until the jubilee. Your plan will not work!"
He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels, and looked past her shoulder for a long moment. When finally he spoke, his voice was subdued. "I know."
She waited, allowing the silence between them to stretch out. He sighed heavily and sank down into one of the chairs. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his head down, and his chin against his chest. "I know it's over. I didn't want to face it. You know what this means."
"Nick may very well hurt you."
"He might kill me," Trevor said with a snort. "Although, hopefully I'll be gone before he finds me. I've booked passage on a ship that leaves with the morning tide. This will be my last night in England. I'll release you in the morning, Sarah."
The relief she felt was tempered by a twinge of sadness she felt on Trevor's behalf "You love it here."
"England is my home. This is where I was born, where I w
ent to school, where I came of age. This is where my mother and my brothers and sisters live, where the friends I've known my entire life make their homes. It's the scents of the countryside and the sounds of the city. Put yourself in my place, Sarah. You've been here what? Four months?"
"A bit longer."
"Long enough to have a glimpse of understanding, I would think. Imagine, if you will, going years on end without hearing that soft drawl native to a Texan's tongue or seeing a spectacular Texas sunset. Think of your Thanksgiving dinner without sweet potato pie or even..." He paused and laughed. "Or never smelling the particular fragrance in the air that announces when a cattle drive is headed through town."
With an inward grin, she made a show of sniffing the air. "Do you mean you actually miss the stink of the Thames, Trevor?"
"It's the stench of home, of the familiar. Believe it or not, I do miss it upon occasion. Not as often as I find myself missing steak and kidney pie, of course."
"Of course." She blew a strand of hair away from her face. "But Trevor, as I remember, I introduced you to molasses cookies. You came to adore them. In the same vein, can you not adapt to your new home just as well? Can't you make new memories? New friends? A new family?"
"I tried. I tried with you, if you'll recall. It's been five years since I left home, and no matter what new friends I make, I always feel as if something is missing. There is a place inside me that has been empty all this time. Coming home filled that hole in my soul. It shouldn't be that way, I know. People leave their homes and family to make new lives in new places all the time. I should be able to do so, too. However, it hasn't worked that way for me. Life in England fits me like a comfortable old slipper. I've been walking barefoot over nettles in America."
Sarah shifted in her seat. His talk had made her uneasy because it struck so close to her own heart, her own fears. "So why did you ever leave?"
His smile was bittersweet. "When my father died, my brother inherited everything—title, estate, and, most important to me, control of my trust fund. He wanted me gone. I resisted, but all the power rested with him, and eventually he succeeded in forcing me to go. My first years in America were... difficult. I kept my sanity by dreaming of revenge."
Shooting her a wry look, he added, "Believe me when I say my early schemes were much more violent than turning skunks loose during a church service."
Sarah bit back a grin. "I can just see Queen Victoria up on her throne, holding up her robes as Sally Skunk marches past with a line of babies following behind. Did you ever hear the story of when the McBride Menaces turned mice and cats and dogs loose in First Methodist during Trace and Jenny's wedding?"
He nodded. "That's what gave me the idea."
Laughter bubbled out at that. "The McBride Menaces strike again."
"I like those girls. They have spirit."
"Yes. They're a lot like Nick's sisters." The mention of her husband caused Sarah to sober. They must be frantic with worry by now. "Trevor, why don't you let me go now. You haven't committed a crime yet, I don't believe. Unless importing skunks is illegal, and I'm trying to forget they're over there."
"I kidnapped you."
"Well, yes. There is that. But I think I could explain it away to Nick. I certainly could try. I understand what you're going through, Trevor." She hesitated, licked her lips, then said, "I'm facing a similar situation myself Nick would like me to stay here, but I'm afraid I feel about Texas the way you feel about England."
"Are you no more a marchioness than I am a cowboy?"
She smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid not. But then again, if I wear that proverbial new slipper long enough, I might break it in. It's all a jumble in my mind. I thought I'd have it figured out by now."
"Maybe you've been too busy with wedding preparations to give it sufficient thought."
"Possibly. It's been a busy time. And if one takes into account that Nick and I have been apart for a decade, I haven't taken an inordinate amount of time with the decision. Matters of the heart are too important to be rushed. Now, enough about me. Let's see if we can't come up with a solution for your problem."
The voice came from out of the warehouse shadows. "Oh, I have a solution. Lord Chambers here need not worry about any hole in his soul anymore."
Nick stepped into the light, a pistol in his hand. "He'll be too busy dealing with the hole in his head."
Crying on her wedding day brings a bride good luck.
Chapter 20
The last time Nick had been this angry, a Kualistani Khan had just shot his dog. It was a blue-ice anger, cold clear to the bone. Menace dripped from his voice. "Get away from my wife."
He hadn't killed anyone in a long time and never in cold blood, but he was prepared to do so now. He'd just spent one of the most horrendous afternoons ever, and the thought of making the responsible person pay with his life seemed rather appropriate punishment.
Then Sarah, damn her, stepped in front of Chambers and said, "Now, Nick."
Immediately, he shifted his aim. Now, Nick? Now, Nick!
"There's no need for violence here. I'm fine."
"How pleasant for you. Move away from him."
"No, Nick."
Chambers proved once again what a fool he was by daring to speak. "I'm surprised you found us so soon. The warehouse is rented in an assumed name, and I was careful to lay a false trail."
Nick could have told him that he'd found a street vendor who'd spotted Chambers carrying a mattress, but the thought of a connection between a mattress, the kidnapping bastard, and Sarah made the red haze rise within him once more. "Move. Away. Sarah."
She took a pair of steps toward him, her hand out, her voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild animal. A likely comparison, the rational part of Nick admitted.
"You cannot shoot him."
"Yes, I can. He's an assassin."
"No, he's a stinker."
It was just strange enough to give Nick pause. "What?"
In quick, concise terms, Sarah provided a summary of Chambers' plot to "bomb" Westminster Abbey that left Nick incredulous. Lowering his gun, he addressed Chambers directly. "That has to be the most asinine, lunatic idea I've ever heard."
Chambers only shrugged.
Sarah said, "He's given up, Nick, and he's leaving England on the morning tide."
"No, I don't believe he is. He's a criminal and he's going to pay for his crimes."
"What crimes?"
"Kidnapping, for one."
Sarah's chin came up. "He didn't kidnap me. I went with him voluntarily."
Why, the bold-faced little liar. She still had a soft spot for this blackguard. Nick narrowed his eyes and snapped, "I have an entire list of others. Illegal importing of skunks. Conspiracy to commit... stink."
A burst of laughter escaped his bride. "I'd like to see you bring that one before a court. You'd have to arrest half of London."
"Damnation, Sarah."
"Oh, calm down, Lord Weston. Calm down and use your brain. Stop thinking like a man. We need to decide what we're going to do about Trevor, and you can't have him arrested for fouling London air."
Calm down? Stop thinking like a man? Fury pulsed through his veins. "I know what I'm going to do about Trevor, To use a Texas term, I intend to beat the tar out of him, then turn him over to Kimball and the Special Branch."
"You can't."
"Just watch me."
"Please, Nick. He has to leave England, and that is punishment enough. You know that. He swears he'll never set foot here ever again, right, Trevor?"
"That's right."
"You understand his frustration. You understand—"
Suddenly, Nick had had enough of old Trevor. "I understand I'm becoming exceptionally weary of your defense of that man. Chambers, sit down!"
The man recoiled from the menace in Nick's tone and did as he'd been bid. Nick picked up one of the fine bedsheets, tore at the edge with his teeth, then ripped it in two and again into quarters, which he used as ropes to tight
ly bind Chambers's wrists and ankles.
"Nick," Sarah protested. "There's a rope...."
He shot her a glare. "Not. One. Word."
After testing his knots, he straightened and seriously debated the notion of clipping Lord Lovesick's jaw to knock him out. He decided he'd better not.
Rage boiled within him. He might accidentally strike a killing blow. Which might not be an accident at all.
He settled for leaning down and whispering ugly threats in the ear of the bastard who'd kidnapped his wife, and as Chambers sat shuddering in fear, Nick grabbed Sarah by the arm and tugged her to the far side of the warehouse to give them some privacy.
There, he braced his hands on his hips and demanded, "Why, Sarah? The man kidnapped you. He put me and my sisters and your friends through hell. Why are you defending him?"
For a long moment she held herself still as a stone. Then she drew a deep breath, exhaled in a rush, and said, "Because he reminds me of you, Nick."
"Excuse me?"
"It's true. Trevor is so much like you, the old you. The Nick Ross I married ten years ago. Remember him? He was the Nick who had lost his home and family. He was the young man so lonely, so hungry to replace what he had lost, so desperate to fill the emptiness inside him that he married a girl he didn't love."
The blow held twice the force as that which he'd loosed on Chambers. Nick dragged a hand down his jaw, licked his dry lips, and said gruffly, "I loved you."
"No, Nick, you didn't."
His heartbeat thumped. His frustration stirred. Chambers let out a groan, and Nick shoved his fingers through his hair. "Damnation, lass. Don't tell me how I felt. I loved you when I married you. Maybe not as much as I do now, but I did love you."
This time she was the one reeling from a verbal blow. "What? What did you say?"
The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) Page 27