A Wager Worth Making (Arrangements, Book 7)

by Rebecca Connolly

  It certainly shed some light on matters, and there was a sense of relief there. Perhaps this might help them to figure out details of the notes, which he would certainly tell Gemma about now. Gent would help, he had already gone beyond what Lucas had thought possible. And with someone else to worry about the details, Lucas could focus on rebuilding his life with Gemma.

  He looked forward to it.

  He opened the door to her bedchamber quietly, and frowned at the empty bed. Not only empty, but untouched.

  No one had slept in here last night.

  He moved over to his bedchamber, wondering if she might have felt sentimental enough to spend the night in his dark and rather unaccommodating chambers, but that, too, was empty.

  Panic, that rare and unwelcome companion, swirled within the pit of his stomach and he checked each of the bedrooms, family and guest, even the ones that had not been completely refurbished yet. No sign of Gemma anywhere at all.

  He began tearing through the house, bellowing her name at the top of his lungs.

  There was no response.

  Servants began emerging from various quarters of the house, and each was interrogated on the spot. No one had seen Gemma since yesterday, and no one could quite seem to meet his eye. No answers, no information, no help at all.

  He nearly fired them all right then and there.

  At last, Hattie came forward, and he could tell from her expression that she knew something.

  “Where is Lady Blackmoor?” he demanded without any sort of preamble.

  She immediately began wringing her hands together. “Where, I do not know, sir…”

  He folded his arms tightly, grinding his teeth. “Well, what do you know?”

  She shifted anxiously. “We went to the park yesterday, and met up with Mr. Stanford, as we often do.”

  Something in Lucas started to crack and it was all he could do to keep his composure. Impossibly, his arms seemed to tighten further against himself.

  “I…” Hattie flinched and looked away.

  “You what?” Lucas asked, his voice deadly calm.

  The maid clamped her lips together on a soft cry. “I became distracted and was not minding them, I saw them both getting into a carriage some distance from me, and at great speed. I tried to reach them, but they were off before I could…”

  “They ran off,” he said flatly.

  She nodded once, swallowing. “I know how fond she was of him, my lord, but I never… I would not have…”

  “That is all, Hattie.”

  She hiccupped and rushed from the room.

  Lucas sank against his desk, his sense of loss complete and absolute.

  Gemma was gone.

  It was only an hour or so in his study, reflecting and wallowing, before Lucas realized he was being a fool and the worst sort of coward.

  Gemma was not Celia.

  He was not going to give her up so easily, and he doubted very much that things were as simple as Hattie seemed to think.

  For one, Gemma was not a flighty or impulsive person. She was as steadfast and sure as any creature on earth. She would never have run away with another man, it was not in her nature.

  For another, she loved him. She’d told him, and he’d told her, but he had also seen it. Felt it. And Gemma could not hide anything, could not be anything but what she was.

  She just was.

  He was not the same man he was before, and Gemma’s hold on him was far greater and more enduring than anything Celia’s could ever have been.

  For all his doubts, he could not deny what he knew in his heart, and that was a certainty of Gemma’s character and fidelity. More than that, he would choose to trust her, in her word, in the feelings she had so sweetly declared to him. His life had been one of darkness and deception, but he trusted that her light could give him faith and hope for the future. He could cling to her and find his way. He would let go of what kept him in the shadows and step more fully into the haven she gave him.

  He might not understand what drew her to him, but he knew what ties held his heart to her, and those refused to stand idly by and let anyone or anything prevent his being with her.

  He would have no idea where they might have gone, but a quick visit to Stanford’s house would surely enlighten him. The man was too much of an idiot to think of proper ways to cover his tracks. Yet he was an idiot who had apparently run off with another man’s wife, which seemed to show a streak of deviousness, or stupidity, that he’d never thought possible.

  He rose from his desk and moved to the door when it opened and his young footman James appeared. “Letter for you, sir.”

  Lucas shook his head, shrugging into his coat. “No time.”

  James stepped directly into his path and held it out more firmly. “Sir. A letter for you.”

  Lucas glanced into the lad’s face and saw the set of his jaw.

  He snatched the letter and opened it quickly, scanning the lines.

  Source witnessed Gemma being forced into a carriage at gunpoint by a man yesterday. Carriage followed as far as Richmond, then lost. Scouring for details. If you have need, a lad named Jem has been posted at your house and on your person. Whistle and he will appear.

  Lucas swallowed a lump and nodded, shoving the note into his pocket. “Thank you, James. Tell Adams to have a horse saddled for me.”

  James bowed and did so, no doubt sensing the urgency in his tone.

  Minutes later, Lucas was galloping madly away from his home, heading for Stanford’s town residence in a very fashionable part of London. People stared at him in stunned disapproval, but he could not bring himself to care.

  He was shown into the house at once, and frowned when the aged butler said he would let the master know he was here.

  “Your master is at home?” he asked, his mind turning over in bewilderment.

  The butler did not respond as he shuffled out of sight, but only moments later, Stanford himself appeared, seemingly surprised to see him and looking far too pristine. “Blackmoor, you look quite done for. What is it?”

  “I…” He shook his head, an unsettling confusion pervading his senses. “Gemma is gone. Taken, apparently.”

  Stanford gaped and waved him over, leading him to a near study. “Taken? My dear fellow, how dreadful! What can I do? I am at your service, of course.”

  The concern and sympathy in his tone turned him more around. “I don’t know,” he admitted, running his hands through his hair and pacing the unfamiliar room. “I don’t know what to think or what to believe. I’ve already heard different stories, different events… She wouldn’t leave me of her own accord, I know this.”

  “Of course not,” Stanford said as he sank into a chair, his voice dripping with consolation. “What a horrid mess. And the two of you were just beginning to mend things.”

  Lucas looked at him swiftly. “How do you know that?”

  Stanford looked surprised. “No doubt you heard that we met yesterday. I hope you do not mind, she was so keen to tell me about the promising start, to assure me that your marriage had hope.”

  “How was she?” he asked, painfully aware of the crack in his tone.

  “Delightfully happy, and a little preoccupied.” Stanford tilted his head with a sad smile. “I told her to go home to you, my dear chap, and not waste her time thinking of me. You may wish to rethink her maid, though, the poor thing was so distracted by the park, I do not think she minded us or anything but her own imaginations. Someone could easily have carried off dear Gemma without her noticing.”

  “Don’t say that,” Lucas snapped, clenching his fists.

  “Of course, you are distressed.” Stanford nodded sagely. “It is understandable.”

  Lucas pressed his fists to his head, exhaling roughly.

  “And after all the trouble with your first wife. Running away with a lover, crashing in the very carriage she escaped in, the scandal was horrendous. When word breaks of Gemma racing off in a carriage, it will only come back on you onc
e more, a hundredfold worse.”

  Lucas stilled and slowly lowered his arms, glaring at the simpering, pitiful man sitting before him. “How do you know that Celia was meeting a lover?”

  Stanford’s eyes widened at the dangerous tone. “That… is common knowledge.”

  Slowly, the very motion paining him, Lucas shook his head. “No, it isn’t. No one knew that. I didn’t even know that until recently. The details of her death were never released. The only one who could possibly know that is…”

  He let the unspoken hang in the air and saw the change in the young man at once. Where once there had been a stupid, inane fool there was now a cold and calculating man whose eyes were filled with hatred.

  “You,” Lucas breathed, going suddenly cold. “You were Celia’s lover.”

  “I was so much more than that,” came the sneering reply.

  The wheels began to turn in Lucas’s mind. “You have been sending me the threats.”

  “Prove that.”

  “You restarted the rumors of my family.”

  “What rumors? From what I heard, that was all true.”

  “You invited Lattimer to the Gerrards.”

  “I was not invited there myself, how could I do that?”

  The coldness within Lucas suddenly turned colder still. “You have Gemma.”

  A derisive look and impatient sound met his accusation. “Do I look like I have your stupid trollop of a wife?”

  Lucas slammed his hands on the desk. “Tell me where she is!”

  Stanford scoffed and propped his legs up on the wooden surface. “That would be a fair parlor trick, knowing the location of one missing viscountess. Why in the world would I know? She probably did run away from you, considering your complete and utter worthlessness. Celia knew that all too well. Shall I tell you how many nights we lay awake, entangled with each other, while she regaled me with your many failings? How you ruined her life? How you were incapable of sustaining any relationship of value, let alone one of romance? She found you lacking in every possible respect. I, on the other hand, fulfilled her. In every way.” He smiled, his mouth curving on one side. “And given less than half a chance, I could do exactly the same with your current wife, Blackmoor. Provided you have not lost her forever.”

  Lucas snarled and rounded the desk in an instant, shoving Stanford’s legs down and seizing him by the jacket and the throat. He whirled and slammed him against the thick window, squeezing and pressing with such force his hands ached.

  “Where is my wife?” he roared into the rapidly paling face.

  Fear flashed across Stanford’s features and he scrambled to try to release himself. “Not here,” he gasped. “Not here!”

  “Where?” he bellowed, squeezing and slamming him harder against the glass.

  “Feltham!” came the weak and almost keening response. “Feltham, for God’s sake! Abandoned warehouse on the edge of the village!”

  “Did you hurt her?” Lucas asked, leaning close and lowering his voice dangerously.

  Frantically, Stanford shook his head. “No!”

  Lucas exhaled slowly, tempted beyond reason to squeeze the remaining life out of this rat who had caused him so much grief. But he was no murderer, despite the opinions of Society and the temptation before him. “Never come near me or my wife again,” he hissed. “Ever. One word about either of us, any of this, or Celia, and I will end you.”

  He tightened his grip perceptively and Stanford nodded with shaking, panicking motions.

  Lucas dropped him as he whirled away, not caring what happened or in what state he left him.

  He raced out of the house, whistled once, and grunted in satisfaction when a lad appeared from the shadows.

  “Jem?” he asked as he mounted his horse.

  The lad nodded firmly, a perfect soldier.

  Lucas met his eyes seriously, despite his racing heart. “I need him. The road to Richmond. I’ll not wait.”

  “Aye, sir,” Jem replied, dashing off at once, a shrill whistle lighting the morning air.

  Lucas turned his horse towards the road and galloped away, heart in his throat.

  An abandoned warehouse in Feltham. Anything could happen there. She could be in any state, despite Stanford’s words. She would be alone, probably restrained, and certainly frightened.

  Did she know he would come for her? Did she believe he would see the truth in the matter? Did she know that he trusted her, completely and without reservation?

  Was she even alive?

  He forced his fears and worries back and focused on the hard ride before him.

  He was fetching his wife and bringing her home, no matter what happened.

  Then neither of them would ever be alone again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Gemma buried her head into her arms as they rested on her knees, the tremors coursing through her body growing more and more wild. She couldn’t help herself, considering the circumstances.

  She had been in this cold, dark, dank cell for hours, had been forced to huddle in a corner the entire night in an attempt to sleep, which had proven worthless. She was filthy and freezing, and her only food since the day before had been some very hard, dry bread that her captors had tossed into her cell as if she were a dog.

  The two burly men, Arthur and Brutus, if she had heard right, stayed at the furthest end of the room, apparently forced to remain with her. They chose to ignore her, for the most part, and she could only say she was grateful for that. She could easily be beaten and worse, severely mistreated for no other reason than sport.

  But no, they quite simply did as they had been bid, and would continue to do so until payment was received. They were entirely immune to her tears, unmoved by her attempt at hysterics, and unimpressed by her rage. They had no idea of niceties or propriety, did not care that she was a fine woman, and had absolutely no manners at all that she could see, particularly after witnessing their evening meal.

  All told, they seemed to be a bit dim-witted and chosen for their size and strength rather than capability and intellect.

  If she knew what to do with that, she might find a way out of here.

  She wrapped her arms more tightly around her, feeling abandoned and alone, despite their presence in the room. They had the only sources of light and warmth and no amount of pleading had swayed them to share it with her. Too many echoes of her past haunted her in these circumstances, crying where no one could hear, dark where no light would come, alone with no hope of salvation…

  Bennett had tormented her the entire ride from London, sharing far too many details of his past with Celia, their joined amusement at Lucas’s distress, the many stories Celia had shared of how she strove to wound him… Then he turned even more cruel, telling her every horrible and depraved way in which he would see her and her husband ruined, both through her and through his machinations against her husband.

  It seemed he had been sending anonymous threats and warnings to Lucas all this time, playing on fears and taunting him with hints, all designed to wound Gemma and ruin their lives, and Lucas, used to scorn and so careful with everything he did, had become nearly obsessed with them, fixated and driven to spare her from the effects that may unfold.

  It was agony to imagine what Lucas had suffered, and knowing what he would suffer still with her being gone.

  She’d been terrified that Bennett would actually follow through on some of the horrors he had described for her, but in reality, he had simply deposited her with her captors and instructed them on her neglect and incarceration, then left without a second thought.

  She could not tell if he were a cruel man or a cowardly one.

  It made no difference, it would all play out the same way for her husband, who had been broken down too many times to endure more.

  She wondered if he would even know she was missing yet. And when he did inevitably find her missing, would he think the worst?

  Why shouldn’t he? What had she ever been for him but a source of torm
ent and strife? None of this misery would have begun if she hadn’t started that blasted wager with her friends. If she had simply let the requested dance pass as anyone else might have rather than encouraging him, they might have remained as polite acquaintances.

  She shook her head at herself, irritated with her self-pity. She refused to regret what had passed between them, for she had discovered far more than she had ever expected in him, and had come to love him with a fierceness that startled her. Their life might have been more difficult than either of them had expected, but it was hardly enough to make her wish it away.

  And with the child she now carried within her, she had more reason than ever to wish for it all to remain.

  She rubbed at her tired, weeping eyes and leaned back against the wall, tremors fading. She needed to have faith in her husband, in his feelings for her. He loved her, and with a depth that still took her breath away. They needed years together to fully explore and understand their connection and each other, and he would not give up on that, not after what they had shared.

  And neither would she.

  Lucas deserved a wife that was as determined and strong as he, one that would not shirk in the face of uncertainty or doubt. He had faced enough horrors in his life on his own; he would not have to do so now.

  He had spent the entirety of their marriage trying to protect her, thinking all of the weight should rest on his shoulders.

  No more.

  She was going to fight tooth and nail for her marriage, and he was going to have to bear with her fierceness, for he was worth such a defense. She loved him and he loved her, and no pride or rumors or former lover of a late wife was going to get in the way.

  She would choose to believe the best in her husband, and pray he would do the same with her. Despite Bennett’s claim that her husband could not love her and would not miss her and all the other lies he had spouted, she would choose faith. She would make the best of all situations, even this one, and hold on for dear life.