“Lady Brayton, milord.”
A condemning silence pervaded the hall, and Troyce wished now that he hadn’t told the Justisses of Faith’s life in his household. “No, I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.” he said. “Devon and Faith have had their differences, but Devon would never wish to see her harmed.”
Concern etched Jesse Justiss’s rugged features. “I’m not saying she would, but she might know something.”
“Will you ask her to join us in the study?” Troyce asked of the housekeeper.
While Millie went to gather a tray and fetch Devon, Troyce led his guests into the library. He hadn’t bothered to study Honesty Justiss—just seeing her made him long for Faith—but now, as he slid a glance in her direction to gauge her reaction, he wished he hadn’t bothered. She sat on the settee, leaning against her husband. Her face was pale, her features twisted with distress. Without her coat to conceal her, he realized she had a fuller figure, and her clothes were of the finest cut and fabric.
How could he ever have mistaken her for Faith?
“West?”
He tore his attention away from Honesty and greeted his sister. “Devon.”
After introductions were made and Devon had seated herself in a chair adjacent from the settee, she said, “Forgive me for staring, Mrs. Justiss. The resemblance between you and your sister is remarkable.”
Tears sprang to the woman’s eyes. She dabbed at them with the corner of a handkerchief provided by her husband. “Forgive me, Lady Brayton. I’m afraid my emotions are a bit sensitive at the moment. I’ve been searching for my sister for so long, and to learn that she isn’t here as I’d hoped is somewhat of a disappointment.”
“I’m sure it is. She left so abruptly that there was no time to stop her. The boy is worried sick. He hasn’t been out of his room since yesterday.”
Troyce’s head snapped up. “Wait, do you mean she left without taking the lad?”
“She took nothing, West. She simply disappeared.”
A mate don’t leave a mate.
Instant foreboding crept through his bloodstream. “Something’s not right. She loves that boy—she wouldn’t have left him behind.”
“Maybe she thought he was better off here.”
“No, she promised him she’d never leave him, and Faith never makes a promise she can’t keep. If she’d planned on never returning, she would have taken the boy with her.”
“Lady Brayton, could you tell us exactly what happened yesterday morning?” Jesse Justiss prompted, reminding Troyce of his occupation as a Pinkerton Operative.
“Well, Scotland Yard arrived and showed me her likeness. I then brought them into the library, and they told me that her family was searching for her. I believe she may have overheard the detectives and thought they’d come to arrest her for taking my jewels.”
“She didn’t take them, Devon, I’d stake my life on it.”
“I don’t want to believe it any more than you, West, especially considering the circumstances, but how else do you explain her abrupt disappearance? If she wasn’t guilty, why would she have run?”
“The question is, if she were guilty, why didn’t she run sooner?” Troyce countered. “And why didn’t she take the boy with her?”
“Who else saw the investigators?” Justiss asked, leaning forward with his arms on his knees.
“Chadwick. And Lucy, of course. I sent her to bring Faith to me. She returned to tell me that Faith was nowhere to be found.”
At the mention of Lucy, Troyce’s sense of foreboding heightened to a painful level. “Where is Lucy now?”
“Upstairs, I believe,” Devon said.
“She went to the village,” a muffled voice piped in.
As one, four necks craned toward the window. Brow pleating, Troyce pushed away from the fireplace where he’d taken up his post and strode across the room to peer into the cubby beneath the desk. There, hunched in the near dark, he spotted Scatter. “How long have you been hiding there, lad?”
“A while.”
Long enough to hear every word, Troyce suspected. “Then how do you know Lucy went to the village?”
He dropped his gaze, and Troyce imagined he’d crawl under the rug if he could. “She goes ever’ night. She’s got a beau there.”
“Do you know where Faith is?”
“No, suh. But I know she didn’t swipe ’er ladyship’s baubles.”
“You know who did, though, don’t you?”
“Aye. But I can’t tell ye.”
Troyce crouched before the boy, aware of that every ear in the room was centering on his answers and just as aware that if he wasn’t careful, this half-wild boy, the only one who might offer a clue to Faith’s whereabouts, would bolt. “You can trust me, Scatter. No harm will come to you, I promise.”
His face twisted. “She said I’d never see Fanny again if I snitched!”
“She? Do you mean Lucy?”
“Lucy!” Devon cried.
Though his nerves were stretched taut and perched on edge, Troyce kept his tone calm and even. “Scatter, this is very important. I want you to tell me everything you know about Lucy, Faith, and the stolen jewelry. I swear on Faith’s life that I will let nothing happen to either of you.”
Scatter seemed to weigh his word against his own fears. He leaned his head back, wiped his nose, then sighed. A moment later, he pulled himself out from beneath the desk and lifted solemn eyes to Troyce. “I found a bag of gems in the stables and showed ’em to Fanny. She told me t’ put ’em back, ’cause ye were nice folks and we wasn’t t’be stealing from ye. So I put the swag back, just like Fanny told me to, and someone took it again. It weren’t Fanny who filched it, but I was afraid if I didn’t find it, everyone would think she did, and she’d go to prison. Then when Fanny and her ladyship got into the swordfight—”
Troyce’s brows snapped up, and he pinned his sister with a look of part astonishment, part reproach. “Swordfight?”
Devon pursed her lips. “Never mind. Go on, young man.”
“Well, Lucy was watching from up there.” He pointed toward the balcony visible out the doors. “She had this funny look on her face, like she wanted t’run Fanny through herself. So when she left all of a sudden like, I followed her and that’s when I caught ’er cleanin’ out the chest in ’er ladyship’s room.”
“Lucy stole my jewels?”
“Aye, mum.”
“Did she see you?”
“Nay, suh. I padded the hoof right quick, I did. But when Fanny turned up missin’, I knew Miss Lucy had somethin’ t’do with it, and I told ’er if she didn’t tell me what she did t’Fanny, I’d tell ever’one that she swiped ’er ladyship’s baubles. She called me a liar. She said Fanny took the lady’s things—Lady Brayton knew it, Lord Westborough knew it, and now the coppers knew it. She said if I told, no one would believe me but that I’d best keep me mouth shut else I wouldn’t see Fanny ever again.”
“Sounds to me like someone isn’t so confident that the boy would not be believed,” Jesse remarked.
Troyce silently agreed, as the same thought had occurred to him. “I want every able-bodied person in Westborough gathered on the front lawn. We’ll split up into groups, half will take the house, the other half scour the village. I want no stone left unturned until Faith and that treacherous bitch Lucy are found.”
They searched the village and the surrounding forests by torchlight; they turned the manor upside down. Troyce kept his emotions tightly wrapped in a cloak of numbness, but by the time dawn broke over the horizon with no sign of Faith, the hard shell began to crack. No one had seen Lucy or her beau, a farmer named O’Brien, since the night before, and Faith . . . God, Troyce didn’t want to think about what Lucy might have done to her.
“We’ve searched everywhere,” Devon said when they reconvened in his study. “I don’t know where else to look.”
“We cannot have come this far for nothing,” Honesty whispered. “What if something has happ
ened to her?”
Jesse wrapped his arms about his wife and kissed her temple. “We’ll find her, darlin’. I promise you.”
And Troyce couldn’t bear it anymore. Not the silent glances of compassion Devon threw him, not the comfort Jesse offered his wife, not the intense . . . emptiness of the castle.
He needed Faith. Needed to touch her, see her, smell her sweet scent.
He strode out of the study without a word to her family or his sister and out the terrace doors. By the time he reached the cliffs, he was stumbling. His vision blurred and his chest felt as if each rib was splintering into his heart.
He slid down the cliff path, drove himself along the shoreline, tripped into the boathouse. How he made it to the ship, he didn’t know.
He just knew that he had to be close to her.
Reaching the deck of La Tentatrice, he lay on his stomach, weary to the marrow of his soul, and pressed his cheek to the cool, damp wood beneath him. “Faith, oh God, where are you?”
And in that moment, he realized that, even if—no when—they found her, she wouldn’t belong to him anymore.
He’d lost her the minute her sister showed up to claim her.
Chapter 19
She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Eyes like fine brandy in the candlelight, amber hair glittering with stardust and moonbeams, skin soft as a newborn babe.
She arched into him, the movement sleek and graceful, her breast full, taut, eager for his touch. The scent of her filled him, dazzling his senses, arousing him to fevered heights.
He touched her, and from her came a moan of pleasure.
Then a sneeze.
His eyes popped open. His hand, stroking the polished wood, stilled. Troyce grasped for the moment, for the sensation of feeling Faith, for the dream so close within his reach. But it was only that. A dream.
He clenched his eyes shut and curled his hand into a fist as the night’s events rushed through his mind. He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d sought comfort in the last place they’d been together. Minutes? Hours?
He lifted himself to his knees and sat back on his heels, then reached for the timepiece tucked inside his vest.
“Achoo!”
Faith?
Troyce’s heart jumped from normal rhythm to triple beats in a millisecond, crashing against his chest so hard it stole his breath. He gave himself a vigorous shake. Was he dreaming still? Or had he really heard her—
“Achoo!”
It was Faith! Troyce shot to his feet and strained to detect the direction of the sound. “Faith?”
He raced across the deck and leaped over the railing to the steps. “Faith, where are you?”
Then, weakly, “Troyce?”
“Faith?” He rounded the bow to the starboard side of the ship, following the hollow sound of her voice and pressed his hands against the iron-banded panel of a door shut years ago. His father’s old hideaway. “Faith, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she called through the door. “Just get me—achoo!—out of here!”
He ran his hands over the door. Lichen had taken over the surface and the damp environment had long ago rusted the padlock. “It’s locked. I don’t have a key.”
“Lucy has it.”
“Lucy’s gone. No one has seen her since last night.”
A pause fell, and Troyce frantically scanned the area for something to pry the door open. “Hold tight, Faith, I’ll get you out.”
A broken claw hammer, a bent piece of pipe and a splintered mallet later, panic began to claw his way through his bloodstream. The wood had swollen beyond its bands and was wedged so tightly against the frame that not even a breeze could make its way past the door. “Bloody hell! Faith, I’ll be back—I must find a key.” Surely his father would have kept an extra one someone among his belongings . . .
“Fetch Scatter,” she instructed. “Tell him to bring my rucksack. He’ll be able to get me out.”
Troyce didn’t waste a second questioning her. He made the desperate climb up the cliff path and across the yard. Ten minutes later, he was dragging a groggy Scatter back into the boathouse, Faith’s rucksack clutched tightly in his hand, and half the household dogging his heels at a distance.
“Scat, ye lovely little leech!” Faith wept through the door when Scatter called her name.
“I’ll get ye out, Fan,” he called back, digging through her pack. The tools of her trade spilled out onto the stone, bringing Troyce back to the moment they’d first crossed paths on a London street corner.
Finding what he was looking for, Scatter snatched up a ring of odd-looking instruments. He inserted no less than a dozen of the keylike tapers into the lock before at last, a resounding click made him whoop in glee! Troyce slammed his shoulder against the door several times before the weathered wood finally gave and the portal squealed open.
He wasn’t sure who got to Faith first, but as he enveloped her in his arms, he didn’t care. Nor, as his mouth covered hers in a soul-searing kiss, did he care that they were nearly crushing the boy between them. They’d found her. She was alive, safe, and unharmed.
And smelling quite strongly of roses.
Half-laughing, half-choking, he pulled back and tipped her chin into the dim light seeping in from the cavern behind him. “Are you sure you’re well?”
He barely heard his own words as he stared into her beautiful face. “I am now.”
She sneezed again, and he laughed. “What is this pungent thing you’re wearing?”
“A cloak—one of your sister’s, I suspect. I found it in one of these trunks.”
“This was my father’s hideaway. Devon and I used to play in here when we were children. It hasn’t been used in years. How in God’s name did you ever wind up in here?”
“Lucy told me that Scotland Yard was looking for me and that Lady Brayton sent her to tell me to leave before they found me. She said I was to hide in here until she could bring Scatter to me.”
“She lied to you, Faith. Devon sent her to fetch you, not send you away. Scatter discovered that she’d been the one stealing and trying to make it look as if you were the one committing the act.”
“Scat?”
Troyce ruffled his hair. “He’s been quite the champion during this ordeal.”
The lad all but crowed like a rooster at the praise.
“But how did she know about this room?” Faith asked.
“She grew up here. She probably knows this house as well as Devon and I. Better it seems. I’d forgotten this room even existed.”
Once again, both seemed to realize what would have happened had Troyce not heard her through the door. Troyce swallowed the knot of emotion rising in his throat and pressed her cheek against his chest.
“She was angry with me—she accused me of stealing your affections,” Faith softly told him. “She said that if I hadn’t come to Westborough, you would have been hers again. I didn’t realize how much she hated me until after she locked me in this room. If you hadn’t come looking for me—”
He tamped down the swift and fierce sense of vengeance boiling within him and stroked her tangled curls. “Did you ever doubt I would?”
“Aye, I did.” She looked into his face. “When the inspectors arrived, I thought you’d sent them. You were gone so long. What was I supposed to think?”
“I can’t blame you for thinking I’d sent them here.”
“But I didn’t trust you. Can you forgive me?”
He brushed a wayward curl from her cheek. “If you can forgive me for keeping the truth about reclaiming the money from Jack Swift.”
“Where did you go? Why were you gone so long?”
The license burned a hole through his suddenly hollow heart. “That’s not important now. The only thing that matters is that you’re safe and well.” After ridding her of the cursed, blessed rose-scented cloak and wrapping her in his own coat, Troyce took her hand in his, committing the softness of her skin to memory. “Let�
�s get you out of here. There’s someone waiting outside who’s been very anxious to see you.”
Faith wasn’t sure who she expected to see when she stepped out of the old storage room but a mirror of herself was not it.
She stood in stunned silence and stared at the woman staring back at her, gloved hands pressed to her lips, brown eyes so like her own shining with tears.
In a split second, a childhood of girlish songs and hide-and-seek games came back in vivid detail. Pretty bows in tidy hair. Ruffled pinafores and tiny tea parties. Giggles at midnight and laughter in the broad light of day.
And in that split second, the missing half of herself merged as one. Without thought, she took a step forward. “Honesty?” The name she’d so often called her sister as a child came out in a whisper.
“Oh, Faith, it is you!”
Faith started to lift her hands and rush forward. Honesty, come out, come out, wherever you are. . . .
The reality hit with the force of a fist to her stomach. She saw herself as a young girl, curled up alone and cold against a grave marker, then in a shoddy house with a slovenly woman and her equally slovenly man, then later, huddled between barrels in the hold of a stinking ship and finally, upon a moth-eaten cot in an overcrowded orphanage with nothing but a cracked Phillip Goldsmith doll to remind her of the life she’d been denied.
And she yanked herself back, rage and bitterness and bone-deep resentment bubbling up in a furious wave. “How dare you show your face here.”
Instantly the baron’s arms tightened around her shoulder. “Faith—”
“You! Did you bring her here? Did you tell her where to find me?”
She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe that the baron, her prince, would do something so utterly and unforgivably cruel.
“Aye, I brought her here.”
“You bastard! You bloody, stinking, rotten bastard!” She struck out, not even aware of the blows she was raining upon him until he grabbed her arms and gave her a ferocious shake.
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